


Lord Of The Manor

by telperion_15



Series: Lord Of The Manor [1]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Aristocracy, Arranged Marriage, Big Bang Challenge, Class Differences, Conventions, F/M, First Time, Forbidden Love, M/M, Master/Servant, Servants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is just the stable master, but that doesn't seem to matter to Stephen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the primevalbigbang on LiveJournal.
> 
> Huge thanks to madscribbles for the cheerleading and encouragement.

  
Tom pushed open the door, and sighed in pleasure as the warmth from the stove hit his chilled face. It might be spring now, but it still got dark and cold a damn sight earlier than he liked, particularly when he had extra tasks to be done.  
  
“Thomas Ryan, take them boots off right now! I’ll not have you trailing filthy horse muck all over my nice clean floor!”  
  
Smiling sheepishly, Tom turned towards Hettie, tyrant of the kitchen, and a force to be reckoned with. “Sorry, Hettie. I wasn’t thinking.”  
  
Hettie Adams smiled ruefully as Tom started tugging his boots off. She might rule her domain with an iron fist, but she had a soft spot for Hartshorn House’s stable master. The kitchen girls sometimes whispered that it was a little _too_ soft.  
  
Lining his boots up neatly by the door, Tom proceeded into the kitchen, his thrice-darned socks making no sound on the slate flags as he crossed to the table. Looking down, he could see that another hole was starting to form in the toe of the left one – something else to fix, when he had the time.  
  
“You’ve never only just finished, Tom?” Hettie was saying. “It’s close on ten o’clock – the mistress and the young master have been home for hours!”  
  
“A coach and four won’t look after themselves, Hettie,” Tom replied tiredly. “The mistress would have my hide if she thought the horses weren’t being taken care of properly.”  
  
Hettie tutted. “I’ve never seen anyone take better care of them animals than you, Tom, and that’s a fact,” she said firmly. “Now, sit yourself down. A nice cup of tea’s what you need. And I’ve got some stew on the stove – how about that?”  
  
“That would be lovely,” said Tom gratefully. “So long as I’m not getting in your way…?”  
  
“Nonsense,” admonished Hettie. “I was just about to sit down for a cuppa myself. I’ve sent the rest of the girls off to bed – they’ve had a tiring evening, thanks to the new arrivals.”  
  
“There wasn’t too much trouble, was there?” Tom asked.  
  
“Oh no, don’t you worry yourself about that,” replied Hettie. “We knew they were coming, so most things were ready. But, just between you and me, the mistress can be a bit fussy about what she eats, and, well, after months of looking after just the master, having extras in the house seems to create a lot more work than it should.”  
  
“What about the young master?”  
  
“Him? Oh, he’s as polite as they come. Not that _I’ve_ had much contact with him, but the upstairs maids say he’s ever so nice and kind, never gives any trouble. Although I’d prefer it if they’d giggle less about him, as a rule.” Hettie sniffed, as if she didn’t approve of giggling, and Tom hid a smile behind his cup of tea.  
  
“I’d best be up early tomorrow,” he said. “I expect the young master will want to ride out, now he’s back in the country.”  
  
“Oh, you think so, do you?” Hettie sniffed again. “If he’s anything like most young gentlemen, he’ll stay abed till noon, and then immediately find some way of getting himself into trouble. No matter how nice and kind and polite he might be.”  
  
“And you’ve had a lot of experience with young gentlemen, have you?” Tom asked teasingly.  
  
Hettie glared at him, although the corners of her mouth twitched. “Less of your smart mouth, if you please,” she retorted. “You mark my words – all young men turn into lazy selfish layabouts sooner or later. And a season in town won’t have helped, either.”  
  
Tom shook his head, but didn’t dare to contradict Hettie further than that. She was frowning rather formidably, and he was still hoping for a plate of that stew. But he wasn’t convinced that her assessment of the young man in question was correct. On previous occasions Tom had always found Master Stephen to be as he was described by the maids – polite, kind, and amenable.  
  
It _had_ been a quiet winter, as Hettie had said. With Stephen and his mother away in London, and Lord Hart confined to the house and his wheelchair, there hadn’t been much of anything for anyone to do, least of all the grooms and stable lads charged with the upkeep of horses that no one was around, or able, to ride.  
  
But Tom, like Hettie and the rest of the servants, was expecting more work now the family was back together again. And no matter what Hettie said, he vowed to himself to be up bright and early the next morning, in case the young master should appear.  
  
*    *   *   *   *  
  
Whispering softly as the horse gobbled up the handful of oats, Tom soothed the nervous thoroughbred as he shifted nervously in his stall. While Tom and his lads had been responsible for exercising all the horses in the stables over the winter, including the coach horses, the two ponies that pulled Lady Hart’s small trap, and the riding horses, they also had other tasks to complete every day, and therefore none of the animals had had as much exercise as Tom would have liked.  
  
Hence the nervousness of Plato, Master Stephen’s riding horse. The beast hadn’t liked being cooped up so much at all, particularly not now spring was coming on, and Tom was trying to calm him in case Stephen should show up to ride him, as Tom suspected he might.  
  
He had no idea where the horse’s name originated from, although Stephen had once mentioned in passing that it had something to do with the animal having ‘more brains than most of the people he knew’, so he gathered that this Plato, whoever he was, must have been an intelligent chap.  
  
However, whatever intelligence the horse might possess, it wasn’t doing anything to alleviate his current skittishness, and Tom fed him another handful of oats as he continued to talk quietly.  
  
“That’s right…no need to fuss…your master will be here soon, and then you can go on a nice long ride…get you out of this cramped stall and into the fresh air…”  
  
“Hello? Is anyone there?”  
  
The voice was uncertain, but Tom recognised it immediately.  
  
 _Oh, dear lord._  
  
Straightening his cap, and wiping his dusty hand on his already dusty jacket, he hurried out of the stall and down the passage to find Stephen hovering a little anxiously in the stable entrance. Not one of Tom’s stable lads was in sight, and Tom spared a brief angry thought for their whereabouts.  
  
 _I’ll have their hides for this._  
  
“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I can’t think where my boys have got to.”  
  
Stephen waved a hand in a gesture of contrition. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure they’re all getting on with their work somewhere.”  
  
 _More like hiding round the back of the stables._  
  
But Tom didn’t voice the thought aloud, instead pasting a pleasant and subservient smile across his face. “What can I do for you this morning, sir?”  
  
“Oh, well, I thought…that is, I rather fancied going for a ride. If it’s not too much trouble.”  
  
Tom mentally smacked himself round the head. Of course that was what Master Stephen was here for. What else?  
  
“No trouble at all, sir. I’ll just saddle up Plato for you.”  
  
“Thank you…Thomas, isn’t it?”  
  
“Tom, sir, that’s right. Now, if you’d care to wait there, I shan’t be more than a few minutes.”  
  
“Thank you,” said Stephen again, with a faint air of relief. He still seemed rather uncertain, and as he hurried around getting Plato ready, Tom wondered what the young master had to be nervous about.  
  
In the promised few minutes Tom led Plato out to the mounting block, and watched as Stephen gracefully mounted the horse. Then the other man looked down at him.  
  
“Er, Tom, I wonder…well, I hoped…would you care to join me?”  
  
“Sir?” asked Tom in surprise.  
  
“I feel in need of some company, and I wondered if you’d like to ride with me?” Stephen elaborated.  
  
“Is there no one from the house you’d rather ride with, sir?” said Tom, before he could stop himself. The question was rather impertinent, and Tom braced himself for a reprimand.  
  
But instead, Stephen grimaced. “No one I’d care to have along,” he said sourly.  
  
Tom wondered again at that, but this time didn’t voice any of the questions in his head. “Of course, sir. I’d be happy to accompany you. I’ll just fetch out Jessie, and then we can be on our way.”  
  
In point of fact, he actually had plenty of tasks that needed seeing to that morning, but he didn’t think that refusing the young master’s request would be a good idea. And besides, his lads deserved a little punishment for their cowardly behaviour.  
  
“Robert!” he called, as he led Jessie out into the yard.  
  
Robert, one of his under-grooms, appeared so rapidly that Tom was sure his suspicions about the lads’ chosen hiding place was correct. “Yes, sir?”  
  
“All the stalls need mucking out this morning. See to it, would you?”  
  
A chorus of groans from the back of the stable block was confirmation of the suspected concealment, and Tom smothered a grin as the rest of the boys trooped into view.  
  
“I’ll be back later,” he said, heaving himself on to Jessie’s back. “Mind you behave, the lot of you.”  
  
Stephen and Plato were waiting at the exit to the yard, and as Tom directed Jessie towards him, he could have sworn that the young master was hiding a grin of his own.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
The quiet was companionable, rather than awkward, as the two horses ambled along in the spring sunshine, although Tom still wasn’t exactly sure why he’d been invited along on this little excursion. Still, it wasn’t his place to question his master’s doings, and he was determined to enjoy the opportunity of a morning away from work, no matter how oddly it might have come about.  
  
Stephen sighed, breaking the silence. “I do so love the country,” he observed abruptly. “I missed it while I was away.”  
  
“But I’m sure town must have its attractions too, sir,” said Tom tentatively, unsure if he was supposed to reply or not.  
  
“Oh, no doubt.” Stephen didn’t sound entirely convinced. He sighed again. “I’ll admit the last few months have not been entirely…unpleasant,” he conceded. “Still, I much prefer the country.”  
  
Tom kept silent. He much preferred the country too, but he suspected Master Stephen wouldn’t care to hear his opinions on the subject.  
  
“But my mother will have her way,” Stephen continued, unaware of Tom’s reticence. “Spending the winter in town is the done thing, so spending the winter in town it must be. Never mind that it is crowded and noisy and smoky. It is very difficult to catch one’s breath in town. And if one manages it, all one gets is a lungful of filthy, polluted air. Not like here.” He took a deep breath. “Here everything is clean and pure and beautiful.”  
  
Still silent, Tome nonetheless nodded in agreement. He was a country lad, born and bred, and on the few occasions he’d had to visit a town of any description, he’d not enjoyed the experience.  
  
“And then there’s the company my mother insists I keep,” said Stephen. “She is very concerned with associating with the ‘right’ sort of people. And if she thinks I haven’t noticed that most of the ‘right’ people are young ladies, then she is sadly mistaken.”  
  
Tom shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. The conversation – if you could call it that – was straying into rather…unsuitable…territory. Tom was fairly sure he shouldn’t be discussing matters like this with young Master Hart, but Stephen appeared to have forgotten who his audience was.  
  
“I have heard the litany over and over again,” Stephen was complaining. “I am heir to the Hart fortune, most likely I will soon be Lord Hart, and therefore I _must_ marry, and produce heirs of my own. Unfortunately, my mother’s ideas of a suitable bride, and mine, differ rather.”  
  
This was going too far. Tom cleared his throat softly, hoping to draw Master Stephen’s attention back to his surroundings.  
  
It worked. Stephen glanced round sharply, and then his face flushed a rather attractive shade of pink. “Oh dear. I’m sorry, Tom. I appear to have let my thoughts run away from me. It’s just, I have no one to talk to, you see.”  
  
Suddenly, Tom found himself feeling sorry for this young gentleman. He might have all the advantages in life that Tom had never received, but clearly money and position weren’t everything.  
  
“Have you no friends you might discuss this with, sir?” he asked boldly. “No companions to lend an ear?”  
  
Stephen grimaced again, much like he’d done back in the stable yard. “Companions, yes, friends, no,” he said. “My mother would like it if I talked to Mr. Lester, I’m sure. Unfortunately, he’s not the kind of man who invites confidences.”  
  
“Mr. Lester?”  
  
“A gentleman my mother feels is suitable company for me,” Stephen explained. “She felt it would be beneficial for me to have someone who could educate me in…the ways of the world, I suppose you’d say. Responsibility, courtesy, philanthropy, that kind of thing. All the things my father would have taught me if he hadn’t…”  
  
Stephen’s voice trailed off painfully, and Tom looked away respectfully while the young man collected himself. Lord Hart had been wheelchair-bound for three years now, and it was whispered that his health was failing fast. Certainly Tom had never seen him anywhere near the stables in all that time. He couldn’t imagine how the young master must feel, knowing that he would soon come into his inheritance, but only by losing his father.  
  
When Stephen spoke again, Tom pretended not to notice the faint tremor in his voice. “In any case, my mother would have me benefit from Mr. Lester’s…experience. Unfortunately, I think she may have overestimated the extent of his wisdom on such matters. And besides, I can’t stand the man,” he said candidly. “And I think he’s scarcely more fond of me. But he knows he has a good place with my family, and is unlikely to do anything to jeopardise that. And now I’ve shocked you by speaking so frankly about my family affairs,” he finished.  
  
Tom shook his head, but in reality, he _was_ a little shocked. This Mr. Lester really must be a dislikeable man if Stephen would rather spend his time with a lowly groom.  
  
“Luckily, Mr. Lester hates riding,” Stephen added. “So it would appear I have found a sure fire way to get rid of him, at least for a small amount of time.”  
  
He smiled cheekily, surprising a chuckle out of Tom. The groom suddenly realised how much more attractive Stephen looked when he was smiling. He was a good-looking young man anyway, but the brief lifting of the cloud of gloom that hung over him improved his physiognomy no end.  
  
“Thank you for agreeing to ride out with me, Tom,” said Stephen suddenly. “And I apologise for burdening you with my gloomy thoughts.”  
  
“No apology necessary, sir,” Tom muttered. To tell the truth, he was still a little confused as to why the young man had chosen to confide in _him_ , of all people. But he couldn’t deny that he was a little flattered, too. He wondered what Hettie would have to say about the situation.  
  
“Now, I can feel that Plato is impatient with our dawdling pace,” Stephen continued. “And I’m sure your steed…”  
  
“Jessie,” Tom supplied, patting the mare fondly on the neck.  
  
“Jessie must be anxious to stretch her legs also. What would you say to a little race, Tom? Say to the gate on the other side of the field?”  
  
He was off before Tom could answer, spurring Plato on across the field at a pace that Tom knew he and Jessie would never be able to match. Nevertheless, he urged his mount after their competitors, unable to shake the sudden feeling that young Master Stephen was running away from something.


	2. Chapter 2

Very quickly, Tom became Master Hart’s new riding companion. They didn’t ride out every day – with his father so ill Stephen had to shoulder much of the burden of running Hartshorn House and its estate. And Tom himself had many duties to attend to in his position as stable master.  
But two or three times a week, work and other interruptions excepting, the two of them made time to ride away from their cares and troubles.  
  
At first Tom had found the whole situation rather awkward. Stephen was, after all, his employer (or, at least, the son of his employer), and he found it difficult to tread the line between servant and friend, no matter how many times Stephen insisted that formalities were not necessary while they were out together.  
  
Tom’s problems in this area were not helped by the memory of Hettie’s reaction to his tale of their first ride together. She had laughed uproariously when Tom had related the story – he could still hear her amused shriek of, “The master and the groom – whatever next?” inside his head if he chose to listen. But her eyes had reflected sympathy for young Master Stephen’s predicament even as she had shaken with mirth.  
  
And there was no doubt that Stephen deserved that sympathy. The young man was terribly unsure of himself and, Tom thought, dreadfully lonely. There was, of course, Mr. Lester, but having met the gentleman on one or two occasions when they’d returned to the stables to find him waiting there, Tom had quickly come to appreciate why it was Stephen was so keen on avoiding him. The man looked like he had a permanent bad smell under his nose, and when he spoke it was with an air of superiority that Stephen clearly found infuriating. Needless to say, he had dismissed Tom as beneath his notice immediately.  
  
But despite that, Tom was still uncertain of where he stood with the young master. Was he only there simply to lend a convenient ear, or did Stephen genuinely desire his company? He found it hard to believe it was the latter – after all, what could a gentleman and a stable master possibly have in common?  
  
Nonetheless, as time went on and the weeks passed, some of the stiffness seemed to fade from their relationship. Tom was surprised to discover that they were a lot closer in age than he had supposed. Stephen was in fact twenty-nine years of age – although his youthful countenance made him appear at least five years younger than that. Tom himself was only thirty-one – a tender age in itself to be made stable master on such a large estate. But Lord Hart had demanded that he take the position, and no one argued with Lord Hart – before infirmity had overtaken him he had been widely regarded as a force to be reckoned with. Tom remembered his pride at being given such a responsibility, and had vowed on that day never to be a disappointment to the Hartshorn family.  
  
Tom had also discovered that his and Stephen’s dispositions were in fact very similar. That shared love of the countryside, revealed on their first excursion, was an indicator of how alike they were. Both preferred quiet, worthwhile pursuits to the noise and fatuousness one associated with socialising. Stephen could spend an hour or more in silent contemplation of the landscape as they rode through it, and Tom was equally happy with that companionable quiet.  
  
And under the reserved, rather shy exterior, Stephen had also revealed a keen sense of humour – his astute impersonations of the people he had met in London often had Tom laughing so hard he found it hard to keep his balance on Jessie’s broad back.  
  
And so, by degrees, they became less and less master and servant, and more and more friend and friend.  
  
*   *   *    *   *  
  
“Of course, mother doesn’t approve of him in the slightest,” Stephen said. “She says that it’s not appropriate for me to associate with someone in academia, and particularly someone as eccentric as Professor Cutter.”  
  
Stephen was telling Tom about a man he had met while in London – one Professor Nicholas Cutter, of Edinburgh University. The professor was a zoologist – in layman’s terms, someone who studied animals. And specifically, in Professor Cutter’s case, extinct animals. Tom didn’t pretend to comprehend scholarly matters, but he understood from Stephen that this area of study was generating quite a lot of interest at the moment. And indeed, Stephen himself seemed particularly excited about it.  
  
“How is the professor eccentric?” Tom asked.  
  
“Well, he’s travelled all over the world looking for specimens to support his theories, and by his own account lived pretty roughly most of the time. He even took his wife with him!”  
  
“His wife?”  
  
“Yes, he’s married. A lady named Claudia. I met her in London, too – she seems a kind person. Sensible and practical, which you’d need to be if you were married to the professor!” Stephen chucked, and Tom smiled back.  
  
“And of course, mother didn’t approve of _her_ either. She believes business and travel should be left to the menfolk, while the women wait at home with their embroidery and pianos. Although somehow I can’t picture Mrs. Cutter doing embroidery – she’s much more likely to dig around in the dirt with her husband while he does his research. Mother would be horrified,” Stephen finished wryly.  
  
“I can see how these people would be totally unsuitable for you to associate with,” Tom mused. “Because of course a lowly groom is so much better…”  
  
Stephen swatted him on the arm. “My mother doesn’t know about you,” he said. “At least, she does, but she thinks I only bring you along to adjust my stirrups, and pick me up if I should fall from my horse.”  
  
“Oh, beg pardon, sir. I am failing in my duties, sir. Let me see to your stirrups at once, sir,” said Tom facetiously.  
  
“Oh, stop being an ass,” said Stephen. “I’m perfectly capable of attending to my own stirrups, as you well know. But it’s better that my mother thinks that, otherwise she’d be a lot more insistent about me going riding with Mr. Lester instead of you!”  
  
“I thought you said Mr. Lester didn’t like riding?”  
  
“Oh, he’d soon develop a liking for it if he thought it would improve his standing in my mother’s eyes,” replied Stephen. “He’ll do anything to make sure his position here is secure.”  
  
“So where are Professor and Mrs. Cutter now, then?” asked Tom, bringing the conversation back to the point.  
  
“Still in London,” Stephen replied. “They arrived there about a month before we left, having just returned from a trip to South America. They mostly travel in the winter, and then come back to England during the summer months so the professor can publish his findings and catch up with his colleagues.”  
  
“It must be an exciting life,” said Tom thoughtfully. “All that travelling to exciting places, seeing such exotic sights…”  
  
“Have you ever been anywhere exciting, Tom?”  
  
“Me, sir? No. I’ve only left the county once or twice in my entire life. I’m happy where I am.”  
  
“And are you…married? Do you have any children? It suddenly occurs to me that I know very little about you. I’ve been talking about myself far too much,”  
  
“No, I’m not married. No children. Since my Pa died a few years back, it’s just me. But I get along well enough.”  
  
“Oh.” Stephen appeared to be at a loss for words. “I’m sorry to hear that, Tom.” Pulling up a stalk of grass, he twirled it absently between his fingers as he stared off into the distance.  
  
In the ensuing silence Tom got to his feet and went to check on the horses. They’d ridden a little further than they normally did on this day, to a far corner of the Hart estate, and then dismounted so the horses could rest. The May sunshine was warm, and Tom had enjoyed lying in the long grass, relaxing as he and the young master chatted.  
  
“I think Plato and Jessie have got their breath back, sir,” Tom said quietly, unwilling to disturb Stephen’s reverie, but unfortunately aware of how time was passing. “Should we return to the house?”  
  
“Oh, let’s stay a little longer,” replied Stephen. “It’s so wonderfully quiet out here, without my mother constantly nagging me about marriage and inheritance and my future. In fact, I wish I didn’t have to go back at all!”  
  
Tom said nothing. Privately, he wondered whether Lady Hart was aware of the negative effect her constant badgering was having on her son, but it wasn’t his place to express opinions on the matter, so he kept his thoughts to himself.  
  
“Come and sit beside me, Tom,” requested Stephen. “We really don’t have to leave yet, and I enjoy talking to you.”  
  
Tom did as asked, and sank to the ground again beside Stephen, arranging himself so the long grass didn’t tickle or poke too much, and waited to see what his companion might want to talk about next.  
  
“You’ve been an absolute godsend to me, Tom, do you know that?” said Stephen suddenly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few weeks, I really don’t.”  
  
Tom flushed with embarrassment. “It’s nothing, sir,” he said. “I’m happy to be of service to you.”  
  
Stephen looked at him sharply. “You know you don’t have to be here, don’t you?” he said. “I know you’re a busy man, and I know my rambling on must be very boring for you sometimes. You don’t have to come out with me if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t force you if you’d rather not.”  
  
Tom’s blush intensified. “That’s not what I meant at all, sir,” he said quickly. “I have more than enough lads back at the stables to be getting on with the work. And I like riding out with you, sir. I…I enjoy talking to you, too.”  
  
He didn’t mention that these jaunts with Stephen had become the highlight of his week, and that he spent the intervening days looking forward to them more than he looked forward to anything else. It didn’t seem like quite the proper thing to say, somehow, but he hoped that Stephen knew he wasn’t accompanying him simply because he _had_ to.  
  
An indefinable emotion flickered across Stephen’s face. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “I’m glad you want to be here. Ah, Tom, I feel like I can be myself with you. I don’t have to keep up any of the airs and graces my mother thinks it proper for a young gentleman to assume. I don’t feel like I have to hide parts of myself from you, like I do from her.”  
  
 _Hide parts of himself?_ Tom was puzzled, but didn’t let it show.  
  
“I’m sure it’s not my place to pass judgement on you, sir,” he muttered.  
  
“I hope you won’t, Tom,” Stephen said softly, and rather cryptically.  
  
Then he reached out and touched Tom’s face, his palm cupping Tom’s cheek as his fingers stroked the skin softly.  
  
“Sir?” said Tom, more confused than ever.  
  
“Sssh,” whispered Stephen, as he leaned forward.  
  
At the first touch of Stephen’s lips, Tom froze in shock. Of all the outcomes of their developing friendship, he hadn’t expected _this_. And he had no idea what to do. Stephen’s lips were smooth and dry, and pressed chastely, and a little tentatively, against his own. But was he supposed to reciprocate? Passively accept? His mind was blank with astonishment.  
  
Stephen must have felt his surprise, because in a matter of seconds he had broken away, staring at Tom with wild eyes before hurriedly scrambling to his feet, a babble of words dropping from his lips.  
  
“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry…so very, very sorry…please, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry…can you ever forgive me?”  
  
But as he spoke he was hurriedly detaching Plato’s reigns from the stump they were hitched to, and before Tom’s befuddled brain could even begin to frame an answer, he had flung himself on to the horse’s back and galloped away.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
When Tom finally returned to the stables, he found Mr. Lester waiting.  
  
“Where is Master Hart?” the man asked peevishly, looking put out at having to address a servant.  
  
“Hasn’t he returned yet?” Tom said, immediately worried. Without a second thought for Mr. Lester, he slid from Jessie’s back and hurried into the stables, heading straight for Plato’s stall.  
  
However, Plato _was_ in residence, albeit still saddled and bridled. Tom felt a sudden flash of anger. It was all very well for Stephen to treat him as a plaything, but a helpless animal such as Plato? That wasn’t fair.  
  
Nor was his anger only directed at Stephen. He didn’t necessarily expect the young master to have seen to Plato himself – that’s what Tom and his lads were for, after all. But none of the boys appeared to have noticed that Plato was back in his stall – and Stephen certainly hadn’t searched any of them out to inform them of the fact.  
  
 _I’ll have their guts for garters – all of them._  
  
But when he entered the tack room to retrieve the necessary equipment to give Plato a rubdown, Tom found Mr. Lester still waiting.  
  
“Well?” the other man demanded. “Where is Master Hart?”  
  
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know,” replied Tom, with as much patience as he could muster. “He had to return from our ride unexpectedly. I expect he’s up at the house.”  
  
Mr. Lester muttered something that sounded very much like, “Imbecile”, and then continued in a louder voice. “He is most certainly not up at the house. I have just come from there, and I would have seen him. Might I suggest that you should not have let him out of your sight? It is your job to look after him while he is riding, although you don’t seem to have done a very good job of that!”  
  
Tom thought about pointing out that Stephen had clearly made it back to the stables in one piece – Plato’s presence proved that. But Mr. Lester was clearly in no mood to listen to reason, and particularly not from someone he considered beneath him.  
  
“I apologise, sir,” he said subserviently. “But I really cannot tell you where Master Stephen is.”  
  
“Idiot!” Mr. Lester snapped. “Lord Hart shall hear of this, you mark my words. He shall hear how his staff treat his son. I have never seen such stupidity in all my born days…”  
  
Mr. Lester was stalking away as he spoke, and Tom heaved a sigh of relief as his mutterings faded into the distance. He had no worries with regards to the man’s threats – Lord Hart was far to ill to be disturbed with such trivial matters. Stephen, on the other hand…Tom couldn’t help but wonder where he might be.  
  
 _I must talk to him. We must sort things out._  
  
The next morning, he waited for Stephen to appear with a certain amount of trepidation. He had already taken out some of his nerves on poor Robert and the other lads over their neglect of Plato, and now they were all keeping their distance from his glowering countenance.  
  
But Stephen didn’t turn up, and Tom told himself that he had probably been detained by some urgent matter of business.  
  
But he didn’t appear the next day either. Or the next. Or the next. And after that Tom was forced to conclude that he might not come back at all.


	3. Chapter 3

  
“What on earth’s the matter with you, Tom? You look like a little boy who’s had his favourite toy taken away.”  
  
“It’s nothing, Hettie. It doesn’t matter,” Tom said wearily. “I don’t suppose the kettle’s boiled, is it? I could do with a nice cup of tea.”  
  
Hettie ignored the request, narrowing her eyes at him. “Doesn’t matter, my foot!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been like a bear with a sore head all week. I had Robert in here yesterday, complaining about how none of the lads can put a foot wrong without you losing your temper at them. Something’s wrong, and that’s a fact.”  
  
Tom sighed. He’d known it had been too much to hope that he could pull the wool over Hettie’s eyes. “Sorry, Hettie,” he said. “I don’t mean to be so awful. It’s been a trying week, that’s all.”  
  
Hettie’s expression softened, and she waved him towards the table. “What’s happened, Tom?” she asked gently, lifting the heavy iron kettle from the stove and filling the teapot as she did so.  
  
“Master Stephen and I have had a…disagreement,” replied Tom, not really sure that was the right word, but unable to think of a better one. Had they actually disagreed? He wasn’t really sure.  
  
“Oh, Tom.” Hettie sounded exasperated. “What did you do? I hope you didn’t offend him. He might have taken a shine to you, but he’s still the master and you’re still the servant. You need watch your tongue.”  
  
Tom almost laughed aloud. Taken a shine to him? Well, that was one way of putting it, he supposed.  
  
“No, it’s nothing like that,” he replied quickly. “And besides, he’s my friend. And he says I’m _his_ friend. He wouldn’t take offence at plain, honest speaking.”  
  
“So what did happen, then?”  
  
“I’d really rather not say, Hettie,” said Tom, knowing that this was bound to excite her curiosity, but unwilling to go into details nonetheless. “Let’s just say that we had a bit of a misunderstanding, and Master Hart has decided he’d rather not ride with me any more.”  
  
He was unable to keep the bitterness from his voice, and Hettie tutted sympathetically. “Maybe it’s better this way, Tom,” she said. “It doesn’t do for masters and servants to get too close. Things get all confused, and lines get crossed that shouldn’t be.”  
  
Tom nodded automatically, although he couldn’t agree. He missed Stephen. Missed riding with him, talking with him, missed his companionship. Missed…everything. He hadn’t realised how much he had valued his relationship with Stephen until it was gone.  
  
Hettie seemed to sense that her words weren’t helping much, and tried a different tack. “Here you are,” she said brightly, setting a cup on the table in front of him. “A nice, hot cup of tea. Things always look better after a cup of tea. It doesn’t do to fret so much, Tom. Things’ll come right in the end. You’ll see.”  
  
And as Tom inhaled the fragrant steam issuing from his cup, he _did_ start to feel a little more cheerful. After all, Stephen couldn’t stay away from the stables forever. Even if he didn’t miss Tom, he wouldn’t just abandon Plato. He would return eventually, if only to see his horse. Tom would just have to wait.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait much longer.  
  
Tom was up early the next morning, intent on taking his mind off things by attending to some jobs that he’d been neglecting. The empty stall at the far end of the stables needed its door fixing, the feed shed needed its storage barrels reinforcing to stop mice getting at the hay and oats, and there were several pieces of tack that needed repairing. Tom tried not to throw anything away if it could be mended instead – saddles and bridles were expensive, even by the standards of the rich Hart estate.  
  
He apologised to Robert and the rest of the lads for his previous bad mood, and set them to work in the feed shed. He himself opted to work on the tack – it was a fiddly a business, and he didn’t really trust anyone but himself to get it right.  
  
It was a nice morning, with clouds chasing each other across a cornflower-blue sky, and Tom decided to take his work out into the sunshine. Settling himself on a bench outside the stable block, he went to work on a bridle, intend on disassembling it so he could replace some worn pieces of leather.  
  
But he’d barely started work when a shadow fell across him, and someone cleared their throat nervously. He looked up to see Stephen watching him.  
  
“I thought I might go out riding this morning,” Stephen said. He sounded ill at ease, although he was trying not to let it show, and Ryan tried not to display his own discomfort at the situation either.  
  
“As you wish, sir,” he said neutrally. “I’ll get one of the lads to saddle Plato for you.”  
  
“Thank you. And perhaps they could saddle Jessie as well?”  
  
It was a clear invitation, and for one spiteful moment Tom considered refusing. The he sighed to himself. He wouldn’t do that. Talk about cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face.  
  
“Yes, sir. Robert!” he called.  
  
“Yes?” Robert’s head appeared around the doorframe of the feed shed.  
  
“Could you and John saddle Plato and Jessie, please? Master Hart and I are going out riding.”  
  
“Right you are, Tom.” Robert beckoned to John, and the pair of them crossed the yard and disappeared into the stable.  
  
While they waited, Tom continued working on the damaged bridle. He was determined to get _something_ useful done today, and it gave him the perfect excuse to avoid speaking to Stephen. He wasn’t quite sure what to say.  
  
Stephen, for his part, was equally quiet, and when Robert and John reappeared leading the horses, he swung himself up on to Plato’s back, and headed for the stable yard gate without a word.  
  
Tom sighed again as he mounted Jessie. This was going to be hard work.  
  
They rode for about ten minutes before Tom decided to break the silence. “I don’t appreciate my horses being mistreated,” he said sternly, and bluntly. “There is no excuse for a horse like Plato being left uncared for after a long and strenuous ride. I’d prefer it didn’t happen again.”  
  
This was safe territory. He was perfectly within his rights as stable master to reprimand anyone who neglected the horses, be they stable boy or heir to the estate. And it allowed him a chance to speak without betraying his awkwardness.  
  
Nonetheless, he expected Stephen to balk at being spoken to in such a manner, and prepared himself for an argument. Perhaps it would even be a way to clear the air between them.  
  
So when Stephen nodded and apologised, he was rather taken aback.  
  
“I’m sorry, Tom. You’re right, of course. There was no excuse for my treating Plato like that, no matter how upset I was. I should have found Robert or one of the other lads, and made sure he was attended to.”  
  
“Yes, you should.” Tom’s voice was still sharp – he couldn’t seem to soften it. But Stephen merely inclined his head in agreement once again, and carried on riding.  
  
 _Well done, Tom. That was a marvellous way to start things off._  
  
Silence descended again, and this time Tom didn’t attempt to break it. He wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t make things worse.  
  
After a further period of time, they reached the same corner of the estate where things had gone so disastrously wrong a few days previously. Tom had already worked out where they were heading, but he couldn’t think of any way to alter their destination without betraying his awkwardness. And in any case, perhaps Stephen was right to bring them here. It _was_ as far from prying eyes and ears as it was possible to get, and that could only be a good thing, considering what needed to be said.  
  
Stephen dismounted from Plato and tethered him to the same tree as before. Then he stood with his back to Tom, staring out over the rolling countryside of the Hart estate, his shoulders hunched slightly as if warding off some unpleasantness.  
  
Tom wondered whether it would be up to him to begin proceedings again, and was steeling himself to speak when Stephen forestalled him.  
  
“I’m sorry, Tom,” he said, for a second time. “For what I did. I took advantage of you, and that wasn’t right.”  
  
Tom couldn’t think what to say. _It doesn’t matter_ didn’t seem like the correct response. Nor was it strictly accurate. So he kept quiet.  
  
“I shouldn’t have made advances like that before finding out whether you would welcome them,” Stephen continued. “You were perfectly within your rights to reject my actions.”  
  
“Well, how would you know whether I would welcome them without making them?” Tom said. The words slipped out before he could stop them, and were followed by a surprised silence.  
  
“But I should have asked you first,” Stephen insisted eventually, sounding a little nonplussed by Tom’s response.  
  
“It’s not exactly an easy question to ask though, is it, sir?” Tom replied. “‘Excuse me, Tom, but would you mind if I kissed you?’ It sounds a bit silly, sir.”  
  
Stephen laughed suddenly, although he smothered the sound immediately. Tom smiled. He had no idea what he was doing, he only knew that it felt right. He had been surprised when Stephen kissed him, there was no denying that. But he hadn’t been disgusted, and that was the key. And the more he’d thought about it, the more he’d realised that he’d actually _liked_ it. More than liked it, in fact.  
  
And the obvious hopeful note in Stephen’s voice when he spoke again only made Tom’s smile broaden.  
  
“So, if I were to ask you first, you might _not_ reject me?” he asked quietly.  
  
“I’m not sure, sir,” replied Tom, teasing now. “Why don’t you try it and see?”  
  
Stephen turned to face him abruptly. He looked very serious, and Tom’s heart sunk a little. Had the mockery been a step too far? Was he about to receive a reprimand of his own?  
  
“Excuse me, Tom,” Stephen said slowly, taking a step closer to him. “But would you mind if I kissed you?”  
  
Tom attempted to arrange his expression into something as serious as Stephen’s, but he knew he was failing miserably – he could feel the corners of his mouth curving upwards again, and he was powerless to stop it.  
  
“Not at all, sir,” he said, as soberly as he could manage.  
  
Stephen’s face lit up suddenly, the effect not incomparable to the day’s frequent emergences of the sun from behind the clouds. “Really?” he said. “Do you mean it?”  
  
“Of course,” replied Tom. “I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.”  
  
“And you’re not just agreeing because you think to have to?” Stephen added sternly. “Because we’ve already discussed this. I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”  
  
Now it was Tom’s turn to laugh. “And believe me, sir, I wouldn’t let you!” he responded.  
  
Stephen chuckled, and then sobered again. “Oh, Tom…” he whispered.  
  
His hand came up to rest on the side of Tom’s face, cupping Tom’s cheek like he’d done on that fateful day a week ago. Tom found himself leaning into the touch slightly, holding his breath in anticipation.  
  
Stephen closed the distance between them, and then paused as their breaths mingled. “Are you sure, Tom?” he asked softly. “Tell me you’re sure.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Tom replied gently.  
  
Stephen sighed, and leaned in, finally brushing his lips tentatively against Tom’s.  
  
And this time Tom didn’t freeze, instead responding equally tentatively, unsure exactly what to do with himself.  
  
Stephen’s hand left his face, and he settled both of them on Tom’s shoulders, bringing Tom closer as he became more confident. Daringly, Tom slid his own hands around Stephen’s waist, pulling Stephen against him as he kissed back more fervently.  
  
He’d kissed a few women in his time, and was surprised to find that this didn’t feel much different. Lips were still lips whether they belonged to a man or a woman, it turned out.  
  
But the body pressed against his own – now that _was_ unfamiliar. It was hard where it should be soft, masculine where it should be feminine. It was undeniably different. Although not in a bad way.  
  
Tom almost jerked away in surprise when he felt Stephen’s tongue flickering against his mouth. But he overcame his shock quickly, and parted his lips willingly, his own tongue darting out somewhat uncertainly.  
  
Stephen sighed then, and seemed almost to melt against him. And Tom was scarcely feeling any steadier on his feet as the kiss deepened, tongues dancing and twining around each other as Tom pushed as much as he dared. He sucked gently on Stephen’s lower lip, relishing the almost-moan it drew from the other man’s mouth, revelling in the knowledge that he was allowed to do this without fear of repercussions.  
  
Eventually, however, they had to part, and Tom reluctantly drew away, feasting his eyes instead on Stephen’s flushed face, and red and swollen lips.  
  
Stephen must have seen something he liked too, as he smiled a little shakily, his eyes sparkling. “I think I may need to sit down,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, and Tom suddenly became aware of just how tightly Stephen was gripping his shoulders. “I seem to be a little wobbly on my feet.”  
  
Laughing, Tom nodded in agreement, and they sank to the ground in tandem, Tom lying back with his head pillowed on his arm, while Stephen propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at Tom as a dying man would if he found water in the desert.  
  
Unable to resist, Tom reached up with his free hand, curling his fingers around the back of Stephen’s neck and pulling him down for another kiss. _I could do this forever_ , he thought happily, as he tried to memorise the feeling of Stephen’s mouth against his, what Stephen tasted like, the sound of the soft murmurs and sighs he made as their lips slid against each other.  
  
Impatiently, Stephen plucked at the restraining hand on the back of his neck, trying to get Tom to release him. Smiling, Tom obeyed, and Stephen’s mouth immediately left his, his lips moving along Tom’s jaw line and down to his throat. Tom’s sigh of pleasure abruptly turned into a gasp as Stephen’s tongue gently lapped at the hollow under his jaw.  
  
But then, rather abruptly, Stephen broke off, pulling back to look down at Tom again, his expression serious once more. Tom allowed his disappointment to show on his face, and uneasily wondered if something had gone wrong again.  
  
“I want you, Tom,” said Stephen softly. “I want all of you. Every inch.”  
  
Tom felt a shiver run through him at the implication of Stephen’s words.  
  
“But we don’t have to rush things,” Stephen continued. “We can take things as slowly as you want. I know I’ve said this already, but I don’t want to force you into anything. This is new for you. I’m perfectly happy to wait until you’re ready.”  
  
Tom looked up at Stephen with burning eyes. “I want you too,” he replied. “I won’t deny that this is a little strange for me, but that doesn’t matter, because I want this. I want _you_. And I don’t want to take things slowly.”  
  
He paused to let Stephen recognise the implications of _his_ words, and saw the other man’s eyes widen in response.  
  
“Tom, are you sure? We don’t have to…”  
  
Tom silenced him by placing a finger over his lips.  
  
“I’m sure. I don’t want to wait.”


	4. Chapter 4

  
Stephen gazed a Tom for a long moment, biting his lip absently. “I’m not sure about this,” he said finally.  
  
“That very much sounds like you’re having second thoughts,” Tom joked lightly, although inside his dismay at Stephen’s words threatened to swamp him.  
  
“Of course I’m not!” Stephen protested. “It’s just…I didn’t expect this today. Are we really prepared? This isn’t ideal. I…I don’t want to hurt you,” he finished softly.  
  
“You won’t,” Tom asserted, knowing it was most likely a lie, but needing to reassure Stephen before the other man reasoned himself out of this. Common sense could only take a person so far, after all.  
  
“I might,” Stephen snapped back, seemingly unwilling to be placated. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, you don’t know what you’re doing, Tom, and…”  
  
“But you do,” said Tom in a low voice. “I trust you to take care of me. I _want_ you to take care of me. I want you, and you can’t deny that you want me, too.”  
  
Stephen was silent for a few seconds that felt to Tom like an eternity. But when he spoke his voice was broken.  
  
“Oh god, Tom, I can’t. I can’t deny that I want you. Why couldn’t you let me do the noble thing? I don’t think I could stop myself now even if I wanted to.”  
  
“Well, I _don’t_ want you to,” replied Tom. Gently, he gathered Stephen into his arms. He could feel the young man was trembling slightly. With nerves? With lust? Thrusting his own worries to one side, he stroked Stephen’s hair gently. “Please?”  
  
Stephen nodded once, and Tom knew his resistance had crumbled completely. “But we’re doing this my way,” Stephen said, and although he couldn’t see the other man’s face, Tom could hear the note of command in his voice. “We’re going to take things slowly. _I_ will be in charge, and you will do what you’re told. I don’t think I could forgive myself if I _did_ hurt you,” he finished quietly.  
  
“Whatever you want,” agreed Tom. “Do with me what you will,” he teased.  
  
Stephen’s breath hitched at that, and Tom smiled triumphantly. They were both going to enjoy this, he was certain of that.  
  
Raising his head, Stephen looked directly at Tom. “Thank you, Tom,” he said seriously. Then he smiled cheekily. “Although you may regret giving me such a free reign!”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure I shan’t,” Tom promised him, watching Stephen’s eyes darken. He pulled Stephen into a kiss, sealing the vow with his lips, and then relaxed, letting Stephen direct things as he wished. Placing himself in Stephen’s hands.  
  
Stephen dropped one more soft kiss on Tom’s mouth, and then turned his attention back to nuzzling and nipping at Tom’s throat. It was distracting enough that Tom didn’t realise that Stephen’s hands were deftly working at his shirt lacings until half the garment was undone and Stephen stroked his fingers across Tom’s chest.  
  
His sharp gasp made Stephen sit back and smile again as he quickly loosened the rest of the fastenings, tugging impatiently until Tom obediently raised his arms and shoulders, allowing Stephen to pull the shirt off over his head.  
  
The garment was allowed to drop on to the grass unnoticed as Stephen’s eyes roamed greedily over Tom’s torso. “You’re very beautiful, Tom,” he murmured softly.  
  
Tom blushed and turned his face away in embarrassment. ‘Beautiful’ was not a word he would associate with himself, and he said as much, adding, “I work hard and eat healthily, that’s all. I’m nothing special.”  
  
“Oh, but you are,” Stephen insisted, his fingers following the path his eyes had taken, tracing over the scars Tom had acquired during his years working in the stable. “And these just make you more so. They prove your courage, your drive, your worthiness.” He sighed. “Unlike me. I am hopelessly lazy, Tom.” He held up his hands. “Look at these. They could be a woman’s. My fingers have not a blemish on them. And neither does the rest of me.”  
  
A momentary image of what Stephen might do with those long and perfect fingers flashed through Tom’s mind. He shivered. “I wouldn’t know,” he said thickly, striving to deflect Stephen’s attention from what he mistakenly perceived as his flaws. “I can’t see enough of you to judge!”  
  
Stephen laughed at that, and inclined his head to allow Tom the point. “You’re right,” he agreed, putting his hands to work on unbuttoning his own clothes.  
  
His waistcoat and undershirt were fastened by many small buttons, so it took him longer to rid himself of them than it had for him to remove Tom’s simple, rough shirt. But Tom feasted his eyes eagerly on each piece of skin as it was exposed, until the last button was undone, and the clothing fell to the ground next to Tom’s  
  
Stephen hadn’t been wrong about his body being unblemished. His skin was paler than Tom’s, not having had the benefits that came with hard work in the fresh air and sunshine. But that didn’t detract from his beauty. On the contrary, he reminded the groom of the classical statues he had seen on one of his infrequent forays into the formal gardens of Hartshorn House.  
  
“Now who’s beautiful?” he teased gently, and it was Stephen’s turn to blush.  
  
As he leaned down to kiss Tom again, Tom immediately, albeit a little hesitantly, slid his arms around Stephen, pulling the other man on top of him so they were lying torso to torso.  
  
Both men sighed as their semi-naked bodies came into contact, and Tom’s grip on Stephen tightened as he kissed him passionately.  
  
“What happened to me being the one in charge?” Stephen grumbled good-naturedly against his lips.  
  
Instantly, Tom went limp, slackening his hold and allowing his arms to thump to the ground.  
  
Laughing again, Stephen swatted him on the shoulder, and then immediately proceeded to soothe the hurt with his tongue. Then his mouth moved downwards, along Tom’s collarbone, taking advantage of Tom’s passive state to taste and explore his body.  
  
Tom hummed in pleasure at the feeling of Stephen’s lips on his skin, his playful compliance altering subtlely as he settled into a more relaxed state.  
  
So when Stephen’s tongue suddenly darted across one of his nipples, his gasp of shock was all the more real as he lifted his head to look at the other man.  
  
But Stephen merely smiled at him wickedly and did it again, his tongue lingering this time, swirling around the hard nub until Tom groaned aloud and let his head drop back again.  
  
“Oh, you’re going to kill me,” he ground out.  
  
“Very possibly,” Stephen agreed, not sounding all that put out by the prospect.  
  
Tom attempted to glare at him, but since Stephen chose that moment to direct his attention towards Tom’s other nipple, he suspected the look might not have come off exactly as he could have wished. He gave up and groaned again.  
  
Some indeterminate time later, when Stephen’s lips and tongue and teeth had tortured him into complete submission, Stephen voice abruptly broke through his blissful stupor.  
  
“Tom? Tom?”  
  
“Hmmmmm?” It seemed a lot of effort try lifting his head again, so he settled for merely turning it until he was looking in Stephen’s general direction.  
  
Stephen’s expression was amused, although his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark with lust. “Tom? I need you to turn over. Can you do that?”  
  
Tom considered the question seriously for a couple of moments, as his brain perked up a little, and decided that he probably could. Although…  
  
“You’ll need to get off me first.”  
  
Stephen smiled and wriggled off him, purposely rubbing his groin against Tom’s in a way that suddenly drew his attention to a part of his anatomy that had been made much more alert by the proceedings.  
  
“Christ!” he cursed fluently.  
  
Stephen looked even more amused. “That’s blasphemy, Tom,” he scolded.  
  
“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…” Tom muttered facetiously.  
  
Stephen tutted in mock-outrage. “Are you going to turn over or not?” he asked, in a tone of fond exasperation. Then his voice softened. “If you’d rather not…”  
  
Tom silenced him with a glare, and sat up. “Can I assume I need to remove the rest of my clothing as well?” he enquired.  
  
“That might be useful,” Stephen replied, his eyes flashing an apology at Tom as he stood up and proceeded to divest himself of the remainder of his own attire, Tom assisting him momentarily by tugging at his riding boots, a brief chuckle of laughter issuing from his lips as Stephen very nearly toppled over backwards in the process.  
  
Busying himself in setting the boots aside in a neat pair, and then removing his own clothing, Tom didn’t notice Stephen’s nakedness until he had achieved his own. But when he looked up at Stephen, he gulped. Stephen’s own arousal was very much in evidence, and Tom couldn’t help the momentary flash of fear as he gazed at it. It looked far too big to…  
  
His nervousness must have shown on his face, because Stephen immediately knelt down in front of him, placing his fingers under Tom’s chin and forcing Tom’s gaze upwards from what was transfixing him. “Tom, _please_ say if you’ve changed your mind,” he pleaded. “I won’t do this if I know you don’t want it.”  
  
Tom shook his head firmly. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I want this. Just…be gentle with me, please.” He smiled sheepishly, and Stephen smiled back, before pressing a chaste kiss on Tom’s lips.  
  
“I promise,” he said softly. “Now, lie on your front. No, wait a minute…” He snatched a piece of clothing from the discarded pile, and laid it out on the ground. “This will be more comfortable than the grass.”  
  
Tom arranged himself as instructed, the position trapping his erection between his body and the ground. He shifted slightly to make himself comfortable, and then waited.  
  
The first thing he felt was Stephen’s hands stroking over his shoulders and down his back, smoothing their way across his skin until they reached the swell of his buttocks. Then they were removed for a few seconds, before they returned to his behind, parting his cheeks gently.  
  
A finger, slick with what he could only assume was saliva, rubbed across his entrance suddenly. It felt strange, but good, and he moaned quietly.  
  
Stephen made an approving noise, and did it again, letting his finger circle the sensitive pucker a few times. Tom moaned a little louder.  
  
“Good,” Stephen crooned. “Just relax for me, Tom.” He continued his movements until Tom was whimpering, pushing back ever so slightly against the pressure of Stephen’s finger.  
  
Then the finger stopped circling, and the tip pushed inside him slowly. Tom tensed in reflex.  
  
“It’s alright,” Stephen soothed. “Don’t fight me, Tom. I won’t hurt you.”  
  
He pushed the finger in a little further, and by sheer effort of will Tom relaxed, although he could hear that his breath was coming in short pants as Stephen sheathed the finger in his body up to the second knuckle.  
  
“Good, Tom. That’s good. I’m going to make you feel good.”  
  
The finger started to withdraw, with just the slightest amount of drag, and then pushed back in again, this time as far as it would go. It still felt decidedly odd, but Tom trusted what Stephen was telling him, and didn’t protest.  
  
Stephen was moving his finger around inside him now, as if searching for something. But Tom turned his head to ask what he was doing, the finger suddenly ghosted across a spot that made his insides flutter and sent his breath rushing out of him in a loud gasp.  
  
“Found it!” Stephen’s voice was low and triumphant. “Did you like that, Tom?” he asked huskily.  
  
Tom nodded hastily, his eagerness drawing a chuckle from Stephen.  
  
“I’m glad.” The finger brushed across the spot again, more firmly this time, dragging a whimper from Tom’s throat as he pushed back again, desperate for more contact.  
  
Stephen obliged, stroking repeatedly until Tom was squirming uncontrollably, choked sobs dropping from his lips as he pleaded for more.  
  
“I told you I would make you feel good,” Stephen said, and Tom was gratified to hear that his voice was as unsteady as Tom was feeling. “I’m going to try two fingers now. Just relax.”  
  
The removal of the first finger had Tom whining at its loss, but when Stephen started the whole process over with two fingers, once more slick with saliva, he tensed again as if the first finger had never been. Two felt like much more than one, and Stephen was even more gentle that he had been the first time around, pushing in much more gradually, twisting and scissoring slowly, so slowly, until Tom felt he could stop muffling his ragged breathing in the crook of his arm.  
  
Only the memory of the previous pleasure stopped him from retreating from Stephen’s probing digits, and eventually he was rewarded when Stephen stroked the sensitive nub inside him again, making him curse and groan as the other man proceeded to melt Tom’s bones to mush once more.  
  
He kept it up for longer this time, seemingly determined to prove to Tom how pleasurable this could be, and when he finally withdrew his fingers, Tom could only gasp, “More! Please!”  
  
“Three fingers now,” Stephen warned him.  
  
“No!” said Tom sharply. “I’m ready now. _Please_ , Stephen.”  
  
There was a brief hesitation. “That’s the first time you’ve used my name, you know,” Stephen said in a low voice.  
  
But he didn’t sound displeased by the occurrence, so Tom decided to try it again, determined to get his way.  
  
Stephen, please! I’m ready. I want you. _Please_!”  
  
“No, Tom. You’re not ready.” Stephen’s tone was firm, but Tom could hear in his voice how much it was costing him to restrain himself. “I won’t hurt you. You’re just going to have to wait.”  
  
And no matter how much Tom begged, Stephen was immoveable. He continued his preparation of Tom with a single-minded determination that, if Tom had been coherent enough to think about it, would have impressed him mightily.  
  
But instead he wriggled and begged and pleaded, barely even noticing how much fuller three fingers instead of two made him feel, and only the return of the pressure against that place deep inside him broke his litany of babbling and made him compliant to Stephen’s will.  
  
“It’s alright, Tom. It’s alright.” Stephen’s free hand was stroking his back again. “Tom, I need you to raise yourself up for me. On to your hands and knees, Tom. Can you do that?”  
  
Shakily, Tom obeyed, the movement dragging Stephen’s fingers from him for the final time. He whimpered slightly at their absence.  
  
Behind him, Stephen muttered something. Tom caught the words, “…hope you’re ready.”  
  
“I am,” he said instantly. “I am ready, Stephen.”  
  
“I hope you are,” Stephen repeated. “Because I don’t think I can wait any longer.” He was trying for amused, but sounded more desperate. His hands settled on Tom’s hips, holding him in place.  
  
“This will feel strange, Tom,” he warned, and then Tom felt something blunt nudging at his entrance, as slick as the fingers had been, and pushing into him as slowly as Stephen could contrive.  
  
He gritted his teeth against the abrupt blossoming of pain. This felt much larger than even three of Stephen’s fingers. It was stretching him beyond what he was sure his body must be capable of taking, and it _hurt_.  
  
But he was determined not to cry out. He had told Stephen he wanted this, and he still did. But he’d had no idea it was going to be this painful.  
  
Stephen seemed to sense something was wrong. He stopped moving. “Tom?” he said, uncertainly.  
  
“I’m alright,” Tom ground out. “Don’t stop.”  
  
“But I’m hurting you.”  
  
“I said, don’t stop,” Tom panted. “I’ll be alright in a minute.”  
  
There was an uncertain silence, but then Stephen started pushing forwards again. Tom squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take deep breaths to keep the pain at bay until Stephen was fully embedded inside him. Then he stopped again.  
  
“Tom? Tom, how do you feel?”  
  
“Full,” gasped Tom.  
  
“It will get easier as you become accustomed to it, Tom. I promise.”  
  
Tom nodded jerkily, wordless permission for Stephen to continue.  
  
Stephen started to draw back, just as slowly as he had gone in. It still hurt, and Tom couldn’t disguise that fact. It felt like an eternity until Stephen pulled back far enough to almost completely vacate Tom’s body, and then Tom heard sounds that indicated that Stephen was lubricating himself again  
  
And this time, when he slowly thrust forwards, it _did_ feel a little easier. Tom was able to focus a little more of what it actually felt like to have something filling him like this, instead of how much pain it was causing.  
  
Then Stephen shifted behind him, changing his angle slightly, and now Tom _did_ cry out as he was stimulated from within once more, his hips jerking involuntarily as pleasure danced through his veins. His erection, which had wilted under the onslaught of pain, twitched back to life a little.  
  
“You see,” said Stephen unevenly. “It does feel good.” He thrust again, just enough to make Tom moan in pleasure again. He squeezed convulsively around Stephen, and the other man gasped brokenly. “Oh god, Tom…”  
  
Smiling for the first time in several minutes, Tom did it again on purpose, enjoying the knowledge that he could make Stephen lose control like this. Stephen retaliated with another shallow thrust, setting Tom’s nerve-endings ablaze. He was now fully erect again, and throbbing in time to Stephen’s thrusts. Gingerly, he lifted a hand to himself, balancing precariously on his other arm, stroking himself lightly, using the sensation to distract himself from any lingering pain.  
  
Stephen was still torturing the sensitive spot inside him, and one particularly firm stroke across it had Tom constricting around him enough for him to suddenly cry, “Tom, please, don’t! I won’t last…”  
  
But Tom could sense that it was too late. With a low cry, Stephen spilled his seed inside Tom, his thrusts becoming as ragged as the movement of Tom’s hand on himself. It only took a few more pulls before Tom was spilling himself, moaning quietly as he felt his orgasm overcome him.  
  
It was some moments before either of them spoke, and then it was only a shaky exhalation from Stephen that sounded like it might have been Tom’s name. He groaned unintelligibly in response.  
  
Stephen laughed raggedly. “Lie back down, Tom,” he said, stumbling over the words.  
  
Unsteadily, Tom lowered himself back to the ground, noticing as he did so that the garment he had been lying on was covered in his own bodily fluids. It looked very much like his shirt, unfortunately.  
  
Stephen came down with him, draping himself over Tom’s back, still buried inside him, and for a moment they just lay like that, getting their respective breaths back.  
  
“Now do you see why my mother is having such a hard time persuading me to get married?” Stephen murmured eventually.  
  
The laughter bubbled out of Tom before he could stop himself, and Stephen quickly joined in, both of them giggling slightly hysterically until the shuddering made Stephen abruptly roll off Tom, dragging him free and ending Tom’s laughter in a pained gasp.  
  
“Tom? Are you alright?” Stephen asked immediately.  
  
Tom smiled ruefully. “I will be,” he promised Stephen. “That was nothing like I expected it to be…”  
  
“But you liked it?” Stephen said anxiously.  
  
“What do you think?” replied Tom cheekily, and Stephen chuckled again, although he couldn’t quite keep the relief from his eyes.  
  
Although…” said Tom slowly, his own eyes straying to where Plato and Jessie was tethered. “I might have a problem getting back to the house. Riding a horse doesn’t seem like the best plan after that!”  
  
“Ah. Maybe not,” Stephen conceded, “Perhaps we should have thought of that before?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Tom decided. “We’ll just have to walk back. Give the horses a rest from having to carry us lazy humans, at any rate.”  
  
“I suppose so.” But Tom could tell from Stephen’s expression that the other man’s mind wasn’t really on the horses. “Thank you, Tom,” he said softly. “That was…incredible.”  
  
“Yes,” Tom agreed. “It was.” He pulled Stephen to him for a kiss. “Thank you, too.”  
  
“You know we have to keep this a secret?” said Stephen unwillingly. “People can’t find out about this. It would result in too much trouble…for both of us.”  
  
“I know,” Tom reassured him. “No one will find out, I promise.”  
  
Stephen sighed, and settled into Tom’s arms. “I’m so glad we found each other, Tom.”


	5. Chapter 5

  
The grey curtain of falling water made the outside world seem indistinct, blurring the outlines of fences, hedges, and trees alike. And the soft patter of raindrops muffled the quiet words and sighs coming from inside the old barn.  
  
Tom murmured happily as Stephen’s mouth nibbled its way along his jaw. The unexpected summer rainstorm had sent them scurrying for shelter in this dilapidated outbuilding before they got drenched to the skin. That same rainstorm was now providing a convenient excuse for an extended morning’s ride. Tom found himself hoping the rain would continue indefinitely, so they could remain ‘trapped’ here all day.  
  
Suddenly Stephen’s teeth nipped rather harder at his skin than usual, bringing Tom out of his happy musings to find a pair of deep blue eyes glaring at him balefully.  
  
“If you’re not going to pay attention, then I’m not going to make the effort,” Stephen grumbled good-naturedly.  
  
Tom laughed, his own eyes sparkling. “I’m sorry,” he said, with as much contrition as he could muster. “I promise to be more attentive from now on.”  
  
Stephen’s frown deepened, “You’re making fun of me,” he said petulantly. Although the slight tremor of laughter underlying his tone rather spoiled the effect of his annoyance.  
  
Impulsively, Tom rolled them both in the deep bed of hay they were lying on, until he was sprawled on top of Stephen, looking down into face and grinning unrepentantly.  
  
“Am I paying enough attention now?” he asked cheekily, before dipping down to capture Stephen’s lips with his own.  
  
The kiss left them both breathless, and Tom rested his forehead against Stephen’s for a few seconds as they both panted softly. Then his forehead wrinkled into a frown as he felt something slight and feathery trailing across the bare skin of his back. As it reached his waist it suddenly became ticklish, and he squawked as he wriggled away from it.  
  
Laughing, Stephen waved the grass stalk he’d snagged from one of the hay bales. “Has anyone ever told you, you scream like a girl?” he asked innocently.  
  
“I do not!” Tom protested.  
  
“But you do,” Stephen assured him. “Just now you squealed exactly like my mother’s maid did the other day when she saw a mouse. Maybe I should make you do it again, just to prove my point.”  
  
He wafted the grass stalk closer to Tom again, and Tom twitched away unconsciously.  
  
A triumphant look came over Stephen’s face. “You must be very ticklish,” he said evilly.  
  
Feeling around, Tom quickly located his own feathery stalk of grass, and advanced on Stephen. “I’ll give you ticklish,” he threatened.  
  
As it turned out, Tom wasn’t the only one who screamed like a girl when he was being tickled, and eventually the two men lay in a panting heap, weapons abandoned as they tried to regain the breath that laughter had stolen from them. Tom was on top of Stephen again, straddling his hips, and he could feel something that made him think evil thoughts of his own.  
  
Experimentally, he shifted his weight, wishing that they’d both removed more than just their shirts and boots, but interested to see the result nonetheless.  
  
The sudden friction made Stephen gasp, his eyes fluttering closed. Tom smiled, shifting again, and was rewarded with a louder gasp, this one almost verging on a moan.  
  
“Tease…” Stephen growled. “Should teach you…a lesson.”  
  
“But wouldn’t you rather I kept doing this?” Tom asked seriously, rubbing against Stephen in earnest this time, and drawing a gasp from his own lips in the process.  
  
“Tom…stop…I don’t…”  
  
Tom stopped moving immediately. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?” he asked worriedly. Had he gone too far?  
  
Stephen opened his eyes again, looking at Tom. “Of course not. I just…I wanted to ask you something.”  
  
“Oh?” Tom wasn’t feeling particularly reassured, and his expression let Stephen know it.  
  
“It’s nothing bad,” Stephen continued hastily. “In fact, I think it could be rather good. For both of us,” he added. “But I feel a little awkward asking.”  
  
“Just ask me,” said Tom sensibly. “You won’t know the answer unless you do.”  
  
“Well, I wondered…that is, I was hoping…” Stephen was stuttering over his words like an embarrassed schoolchild, and was waving his hands around in agitation. Tom caught his wrists in his own hands, holding them still, and looked down at Stephen calmly.  
  
“Ask,” he instructed softly.  
  
Stephen took a deep breath. “Would you…would you put your mouth on me, Tom?” he asked.  
  
Puzzled, Tom tried to work out what Stephen meant. His mouth? Hadn’t he done that already? He didn’t quite understand.  
  
And then, whether by accident or by design, Stephen’s hips shifted slightly under him, pressing his arousal against Tom’s thigh, and Tom suddenly realised what was being asked of him. His eyes widened.  
  
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” said Stephen quickly. “It was a stupid and selfish thing to ask. Forget I even mentioned it.” His face was flaming, and he wriggled again, clearly trying to extract himself from under Tom.  
  
But Tom tightened his grip on Stephen’s wrists, not letting Stephen get away. “Wait,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t be so hasty. I can’t deny I’m surprised,” he said slowly, thinking it through as he spoke. “I’ve never really thought about that kind of thing before. To be honest, it’s never really occurred to me,” he added sheepishly. “But I think…I think I’d like to try.”  
  
Stephen stilled instantly. “Really?” he said, and Tom couldn’t help but smile at the hopeful note in his voice.  
  
“Really,” he confirmed. “But you’ll have to guide me – I’m a novice at this, you know…”  
  
Releasing Stephen’s hands, he shuffled back and off Stephen’s hips, allowing Stephen to spread his legs slightly and then settling between them. He hesitated a moment, and then slowly started to undo the buttons on the front of Stephen’s riding breeches. His hands trembled slightly.  
  
Finally, the last button gave way under Tom’s questing fingers, and he folded the fabric of Stephen’s away gingerly, then pulling at the revealed underclothes equally nervously. Stephen lifted his hips slightly to aid the process, and suddenly his erection sprang free.  
  
Tom paused again, his mind awhirl as he inhaled the musky scent of Stephen’s arousal, and tried to figure out what he should do next. There was no doubt this was a daunting thing, a very daunting thing indeed, and yet surprisingly, Tom didn’t feel as worried about it as he might have done. It simply required some thought, that was all.  
  
“Tom, you don’t have to do…”  
  
Leaning in, Tom flicked his tongue across the head, cutting off Stephen’s words in a strangled gasp. The taste was bitter, but not unpleasant. It tasted like…Stephen. Tom smiled, and licked again, this time more deliberately. Stephen’s hips twitched, and another choked sound came from his throat.  
  
But that wasn’t enough. Tom could hear from Stephen’s harsh yet steady breathing how hard the other man was working to stay in control. It had been mere weeks since their first ‘encounter’, and Stephen was still so careful with Tom, worried that he might hurt him, or frighten him. He always found his own pleasure, but Tom knew he could find so much more if he’d only stop treating Tom like he was going to break any second.  
  
Tom wanted more than sharp gasps and moans quickly cut off. He wanted to break Stephen’s control. He wanted to hear those moans, and not have Stephen hold back.  
  
And now he had the means within his grasp, and he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity.  
  
He used his tongue again, this time allowing it to swirl around the head before trailing down the shaft almost to the root.  
  
“God…Tom…  
  
Not enough. Nowhere near enough.  
  
Running his tongue back up again, he then drew back for a couple of seconds, contemplating, before dipping forward again and closing his lips around the tip, using his tongue again and sucking gently.  
  
Another soft curse dropped from Stephen’s lips, his hips twitching again.  
  
He’d asked Stephen to guide him, but in reality he didn’t need it. He might not have had the technique, or finesse, but obviously he wasn’t doing it wrong. Not if Stephen’s gradually crumbling restraint was any indication.  
  
If he’d been able, Tom would have smiled. This was more erotic than he ever could have imagined. Not that he’d ever imagined this at all, but now that he was doing it…  
  
Sliding his lips lower, he took as much of Stephen’s length into his mouth as he could, sucking again, and using his tongue as much as possible. Stephen was groaning now, and Tom felt a flash of triumph. This was what he’d wanted. To see Stephen fall apart, to realise that Tom wasn’t fragile, wouldn’t shatter at the slightest touch.  
  
“Oh…god…oh…Tom…”  
  
Tom continued his movements, bobbing his head, curling his tongue around the shaft as much as he could. Sliding a hand between Stephen’s legs, his fingers gently stroked soft skin, before cupping and squeezing his balls.  
  
“ _Tom_!”  
  
Stephen’s pelvis abruptly thrust upwards, nearly choking Tom, and then nearly again as he his mouth was suddenly flooded with thick salty liquid. He startled and pulled back, reflex action making him swallow quickly. Even so, he felt some of the liquid trickling from his mouth and down his chin as he coughed and spluttered, Stephen no help at all, lost as he was in his orgasm.  
  
Swallowing again, Tom wiped his mouth and chin with his hands, his tongue darting out to catch a few stray drops that he’d missed.  
  
“Tom…”  
  
His name was gasped heavily, Stephen still panting as he watched Tom half-heartedly clean himself up. Tom looked at him and shrugged apologetically.  
  
“Sorry,” he said. “Not a very successful effort.”  
  
Stephen rolled his eyes in exasperation, clearly still trying to gather enough breath to talk properly. “Tom…you idiot…” he panted. “That was…bloody…amazing…”  
  
“Really?”  
  
Yes…really…”  
  
Tom smiled. “I think I may need to refine my technique a little…”  
  
“No substitute for…raw talent, though…” said Stephen, his breathing calming a little. “Although I’m happy to let you practice on me as often as you like.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised?” said Tom wryly.  
  
Stephen grinned cheekily, and suddenly the word ‘debauched’ sprang into Tom’s mind. Yes, Stephen looked thoroughly debauched, sprawled in the hay with his trousers open, his skin flushed and his eyes dark.  
  
Tom’s own trousers suddenly felt painfully tight. Hesitantly, he started fumbling at the fastening, although he became a little more confident as he noted how eagerly Stephen’s eyes followed every movement.  
  
As the last button yielded to his manipulations, the pressure was suddenly much reduced, and Tom sighed in relief. But as he started to push his hand inside his underclothes, Stephen's quiet command stopped him.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Tom froze. Stephen sat up suddenly, belying his previous sated lethargy, and then he was pushing Tom back into the hay, his cool fingers wrapping round Tom’s shaft and starting to stroke firmly as he nuzzled at the side of Tom’s neck.  
  
“I think you deserve a reward,” he muttered softly, his grip and speed more than enough to send Tom over the edge with an inarticulate cry after only a few moments.  
  
It was some time before either of them broke the comfortable silence, and then Tom observed, “The rain’s stopping.”  
  
Stephen was quiet for a few more seconds. Then he sighed. “Yes, it is,” he said, sounding faintly disappointed. Then, “I suppose we’d better go back. Can you pass me my coat, please, Tom?”  
  
Reaching out, Tom caught hold of the coat with his fingers and dragged it towards him. However, as he did so, something tumbled out of one of the pockets, landing in the hay. Curious, he abandoned the coat for a moment to pick it up.  
  
It was a portrait miniature. Tom found himself looking at a pretty girl with dark hair and green eyes. She was smiling slightly, and her cheeks were rosy, as if someone had just said something to make her blush.  
  
“My mother’s latest candidate,” Stephen said quietly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Miss Catherine Archer. Apparently she comes from a very good family, and has wonderful connections. The perfect wife.”  
  
The bitterness in Stephen’s voice was ill-disguised, and Tom handed the portrait to him without a word. Stephen looked at it thoughtfully, a faraway look in his eyes.  
  
“I wish she’d stop badgering me,” he said softly. “Can’t she understand that I’m not ready? That I might want to make my own choice?” He laughed suddenly, a short, sharp bark of a sound. “Of course she can’t. My mother cares for nothing except that I produce an heir without shaming the family. She knows nothing of love, or companionship or happiness. Society is all.”  
  
Tom didn’t know what to say. He had no experience of the things Stephen was referring to. Society to him was a quiet drink in the local tavern with a few of the lads. Or a gossip over a cup of tea with Hettie.  
  
Or Stephen. Stephen was his society. The only one he wanted.  
  
He knew – of course he knew – that the same wasn’t true for Stephen. No matter how much Stephen might wish it otherwise. Uncomfortably, he considered the fact that, in one respect at least, Lady Hart was correct. In order for the Hart family name to continue, Stephen would have to produce an heir. And he couldn’t do that by hiding in a falling-down barn with Tom.  
  
“Tom? Tom, my coat?”  
  
Tom jumped at the sound of Stephen’s voice, and then resolutely pushed away his melancholy thoughts. He wouldn’t taint this day by dwelling on the unalterable.  
  
Hauling himself to his feet, he retrieved his own garments, regarding his shirt ruefully before using it to clean himself up. He was losing far to many articles of clothing this way. Covering the unfortunate stains with his jacket, he went round to the side of the barn to bring the horses out from the lean-to they had been sheltering in. By the time he’d led them around to the front, Stephen was suitably attired again, and was stamping his feet into his boots. They stood for a moment, smiling at each other, and then Tom offered Stephen Plato’s reins.  
  
“Time to go,” he said.  
  
Stephen nodded, and together they mounted up, heading back towards the house through a grey and sodden world.


	6. Chapter 6

“Tom? Tom, are you in here?”  
  
“I’m here,” Tom called back. “In James’ stall.”  
  
Stephen appeared quickly, leaning on the stall door as he eagerly perused a letter he was holding.  
  
“Something interesting?” Tom enquired. “You sound excited.”  
  
“I _am_ excited,” replied Stephen. “It’s a letter from Professor Cutter. You remember – the man I met in London.”  
  
“I remember. Your mother didn’t approve of him, isn’t that right?” Tom smiled, and Stephen mock-glared back at him.  
  
“Don’t you want to know what he writes?”  
  
Tom pasted an apologetic expression on to his face. “I’m sorry. What does he say?”  
  
Stephen glared for a couple more seconds before his excitement overwhelmed him again. “He’s coming to visit! He and Mrs. Cutter are on their way up to Edinburgh, and have requested the pleasure of stopping at Hartshorn House for a short while on their way. The professor says he would enjoy renewing our acquaintance.”  
  
Tom felt an odd flash of emotion run through him. For a moment he couldn’t identify it – then he recognised it as jealousy. He almost laughed aloud at himself. How ridiculous! To be jealous of a man he’d never even met because he was friends with Stephen. He shook his head self-deprecatingly, and turned his attention back to grooming James.  
  
“They’ll be here next week,” Stephen was saying. “I can’t wait for you to meet the professor, Tom. You’re sure to like him.”  
  
“But will he like me?” Tom muttered.  
  
“What? Of course he will. Why wouldn’t he?”  
  
“Well, I’m sure I’m not exactly his normal standard of society,” Tom said uncomfortably.  
  
“Tom, you could be the king of England, or a beggar on the street, and it wouldn’t make any difference to the professor. He treats everyone just the same. I told you how widely he’s travelled – he’s met all sorts of people abroad, and talks about them all with equal enthusiasm. It’s one of the many reasons my mother doesn’t like him.”  
  
“What does your mother think about him visiting, then?”  
  
“She’ll have to get used to the idea,” said Stephen shortly. “He’s my friend, and I won’t be denied the pleasure of seeing him.”  
  
Privately, Tom suspected it wouldn’t be as simple as that, but he didn’t say anything. Any disagreements between Lady Hart and her son were not his concern.  
  
“Will there be a horse available for the professor to ride when he’s here?” Stephen asked. “He wants to see all over the estate – being a zoologist he’s always eager to see new landscapes and explore the natural world around him.”  
  
“He can have James here, if that would suit?” said Tom. “And what about Mrs. Cutter – does she ride?”  
  
“No,” replied Stephen. “Unfortunately she has trouble with her back – it prevents her. And annoys her no end!”  
  
Suddenly, Tom _was_ looking forward to meeting Professor and Mrs. Cutter. Any friends of Stephen’s must be nice people, and these two sounded nicer than most. And anything that made Stephen look so cheerful couldn’t be a bad thing.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
The Cutters arrived in a flurry of baggage and eccentricity, to be welcomed by Stephen and Lady Hart, albeit rather more enthusiastically by the former than the latter. Stephen had confided to Tom that he’d had to agree to meet his mother’s latest marriage prospect in order to soothe her ruffled feathers after his announcement that the professor and his wife would be visiting.  
  
Tom hadn’t witnessed the arrival himself, but he heard from Hettie later that the professor had turned up with several trunks of books, requiring three footmen to carry them all into the house, and Mrs. Cutter had scandalised Lady Hart by wearing _trousers_ , if you please! From what he’d heard of the Cutters from Stephen, he didn’t doubt that these stories were true, and his anticipation of their meeting only increased.  
  
He didn’t have long to wait. Only the next morning, Stephen appeared with his guests in tow, the professor a tall man with sandy hair and piercing blue eyes, his wife shorter, with soft brown hair and kind, pretty face. Tom noticed she was wearing skirts on this occasion, and made a mental note to ask Hettie if she was sure about the trousers.  
  
As they approached, Tom could hear Stephen waxing lyrical about how wonderful the stables and horses were, making the stable master blush before he’d even said so much as, “How do you do?”  
  
“Tom, this is Professor Nicholas Cutter and his wife Claudia Cutter,” Stephen said.  
  
The professor immediately shook hands, and then Mrs. Cutter shocked him a little by following suit. Tom contained his surprise, and smiled at them both. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”  
  
“Stephen’s told us all about you, Tom,” said Cutter in his broad Scots accent, making Tom flush again and narrow his eyes at Stephen, wondering what exactly the other man had been saying.  
  
Mrs. Cutter laughed. “It was all good things, I assure you,” she said. “Stephen says you’ve been a good friend to him.”  
  
“He’s been a good friend to me, ma’am,” Tom replied awkwardly.  
  
“Less of that ‘ma’am’ rubbish,” Mrs. Cutter said briskly. “Call me Claudia, please.”  
  
“Very well, Claudia,” Tom allowed.  
  
“Now, Tom, Stephen tells us you’ve got some superb horses here,” said Cutter. “How about we take some of them out for a ride? Stephen wants to show me the estate, and I confess I’m eager to see it.”  
  
“I’ll have Plato and James made ready,” said Tom.  
  
“And Jessie,” interjected Stephen. “You’re coming too, aren’t you?”  
  
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude…” Tom began.  
  
“Nonsense,” said Cutter firmly. “Of course you must come. Let’s have no arguments about it.”  
  
“If you insist.” Tom gave in, secretly very happy to be included.  
  
“Will you be alright for a short while, my dear?” Cutter asked Claudia. “We shan’t be long.”  
  
“I shall be fine,” Claudia answered. “Take as long as you wish. I shall take a stroll in the gardens, and then see to the rest of our unpacking. My husband gets very annoyed if his books aren’t arranged just so,” she confided to Tom in a stage-whisper, surprising a laugh out of him.  
  
But Cutter just shrugged and smiled ruefully. “She’s correct, I’m afraid. I like to be able to lay my hands on any book at any given moment. I’m very fussy about things like that.”  
  
“And isn’t it a shame you aren’t so fussy about other things?” Claudia said lightly. “I’m sure you won’t have a thing fit to wear to dinner tonight, and since we’re the guests of Lady Hart I hardly think you can turn up looking like the ruffian you normally do.”  
  
“Yes, dear,” said Cutter meekly, and then winked at Tom and Stephen.  
  
Claudia sighed in fond exasperation as Stephen smothered a chuckle. Tom turned aside quickly to organise the horses, and in a short time the three men were mounted up, Mrs. Cutter waving good-bye as they exited the stable-yard.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
“What my wife said is true you know,” said Cutter quietly. “You have been a good friend to Stephen. He’s mentioned you several times in our correspondence, and as soon as I saw him again yesterday I could tell he was different.”  
  
Slightly nonplussed by the idea that Stephen had been writing about him, Tom was nevertheless unable to restrain his curiosity. “Different how?” he asked.  
  
Cutter glanced along the track towards Stephen, who had trotted on ahead to open a gate. “He seems more sure of himself. More confident, if you like. When I knew him in London, he was quite a reserved young man. It was a while before we became more than just acquaintances.” The professor lowered his voice further. “I think part of that might be to do with his mother. She has a rather…overbearing…personality.”  
  
“I’m not sure how much responsibility I can take for any changes…”  
  
“I think you can take more than you know,” Cutter interrupted. “Just having someone to talk to seems to have brought Stephen out of his shell. And anyone can see how close you two have become.”  
  
Tom shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. Just how much had Professor Cutter discerned about his and Stephen’s relationship? Was it that obvious? Or perhaps Stephen had mentioned something to him. Tom felt cold at the thought. He would have to ask Stephen.  
  
“I’m glad he has a friend like you, Tom,” said Cutter, smiling “It’s done him the world of good.” The professor urged James forward to where Stephen was waiting by the open gate, leaving Tom to follow along behind, mulling over what Cutter had – and hadn’t – said.  
  
Their ride had brought the three men to one of the many small patches of woodland that graced the Hart Estate, and as they passed into the shadow of the trees, Tom welcomed the cool shade even as he worried about how to get Stephen alone so he could question him.  
  
They rode a little further, Professor Cutter identifying various trees and plants, and answering questions from Stephen and Tom about his work and travels. Then, rather abruptly, Cutter reigned in his horse, sliding from James’ back and darting off towards a particularly fine oak tree.  
  
“Hello! What’s this? I must just take a look – shan’t be a moment.”  
  
And to Tom’s astonishment, Cutter flung off his coat, set his arms around the tree, and proceeded to swarm up the trunk, much like the African monkeys he’d just been describing to them.  
  
Tom joined Stephen in dismounting also, and together they watched as Cutter reached a specific branch and sat astride it, looking at something with great interest.  
  
“What on earth is he doing?” Tom muttered.  
  
“Who knows?” replied Stephen, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “He does this kind of thing all the time. It’s one of the many reasons he’s not particularly well thought of in ‘polite society’. I remember once at a party he jumped, fully clothed, into Lord Denton’s ornamental pond, just to get a closer look at one of the water-lilies. It created quite the stir, I can tell you!”  
  
Tom was unable to entirely suppress his own laughter. “I can see why you like him,” he said. “He’s quite the character.”  
  
“No airs and graces at all,” Stephen agreed, and they both chuckled.  
  
The professor was still halfway up the tree, studying his discovery with great concentration, and Tom decided to take the opportunity. “Stephen,” he said hesitantly. “I know Cutter’s your friend, but you haven’t told him about us, have you? It’s just he seemed to know a lot about our friendship, and I…”  
  
“Of course I haven’t, Tom!” Stephen cut across him. “What do you take me for? I would never tell anyone – I know I can’t!” An odd look suddenly crossed his face. “Are you ashamed, Tom? Of what we do? Because I wouldn’t want…”  
  
Now it was Tom’s turn to interrupt Stephen. “Never!” he assured the other man vehemently. “I…I worry about you, that’s all. I worry what would happen to you if it were discovered. It wouldn’t reflect well on you, Stephen. It would cause trouble for you.”  
  
“I don’t care!” said Stephen, his voice low and savage.  
  
“You _should_ care. It could…”  
  
“ _I don’t care_!” Stephen repeated. Then he paused. “Do you think we should stop, then?” he asked, in an entirely different voice. “Do _you_ want us to stop?”  
  
Tom was silent for a few seconds. Then, “No,” he admitted. “I can’t think of anything I want less.” He smiled ruefully. “Ignore me. The professor’s words got me thinking, that’s all. I was worried for a moment.”  
  
Stephen smiled back, and laid a hand on Tom’s shoulder briefly before turning back to watch the professor again. Cutter had finished doing whatever he was doing, and was climbing down the tree again. He landed on the ground with a thump, regarded his dirty hands, and then wiped them unconcernedly on his trousers.  
  
“What were you looking at?” Stephen asked.  
  
“A squirrel’s drey,” Cutter replied. “An old one, by the looks of it, abandoned for a new construction this year.”  
  
“A drey?” questioned Tom. “But they’re everywhere. The squirrels are forever building them. What’s so special about this one?”  
  
“Nothing. Except it’s one of the wonders of the natural world,” said Cutter. “Never miss an opportunity to see something interesting and expand your knowledge, that’s what I always say.”  
  
“Sounds like a good philosophy,” Tom conceded. “Not that there’s much opportunity for expanding one’s knowledge in a stable.”  
  
“Nonsense,” said Cutter dismissively. “I could show you half a dozen amazing things within a hundred yards of your stables, I would wager. And within the entire estate…? Well, it would take a hundred years to discover everything this little slice of England could reveal to us.”  
  
“What a shame you’re only here for a week or two, then,” Stephen joked, and Cutter inclined his head slightly, gracefully acknowledging his slightly overdone enthusiasm.  
  
Tom mounted Jessie again, and then waited as the other two men followed suit. He gestured to Cutter. “Lead on, professor. We may not have a hundred years, but I’m sure I can learn a lot in an afternoon.”


	7. Chapter 7

Stephen and Professor Cutter rode out around the estate nearly every day after that. Tom joined them as often as he could, although as usual his work and duties prevented him from going on some days, no matter how much Stephen might – albeit light-heartedly – insist that as his employer he had the right to dictate where and how Tom spent his time. But Tom was just glad that at least for a short while Stephen had some form of companionship when Tom wasn’t available.  
  
On a few occasions, Claudia Cutter joined them, and then they forewent the horses and used a pony and trap instead, visiting nearby villages and beauty spots. Claudia treated Tom as just as much of an equal as her husband and Stephen did, and while Tom found it strange at first, he soon found himself more at home in the Cutters’ easy company than he ever would have expected.  
  
There was even one memorable afternoon when Lady Hart and Mr. Lester favoured them with their company. A picnic was arranged, and they all piled into the trap to head down to the lake. Lady Hart’s presence meant Tom was relegated to position of driver, and nothing more, and Stephen spent the afternoon mouthing apologies at him while the conversation ebbed and flowed awkwardly between his mother, Mr. Lester, and the Cutters.  
  
But more often than not it was just the three of them – Tom, Stephen, and Cutter. But while Tom enjoyed the professor’s company, as one week stretched into two, he began to long for the days when it had _just_ been him and Stephen. He missed their time together, and started to wonder when the Cutters might continue their journey to Edinburgh.  
  
But he didn’t ask, and he didn’t voice anything of his feelings. It would be selfish and uncharitable. Stephen had so few friends – Tom would never wish to make him feel like one of them was in the way. And besides, as familiar as they were with one another, the groom still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it wasn’t his place to question the young Master Hart.  
  
However, as it turned out, Tom’s feelings weren’t unique to him.  
  
One afternoon, about twelve days into the Cutters’ stay, the three men were ambling back towards the house, letting the horses set the pace as they talked. Rides in Professor Cutter’s company frequently became lessons on all sorts of aspects of the natural world, and Tom had learned more than he ever thought possible about all manner of creatures.  
  
Closest to the professor’s heart was the subject of extinct species – and particularly the giant lizards named _Dinosauria_. Tom had never heard the term before – indeed, his knowledge of natural history was generally limited to horses and farm animals – but Cutter’s descriptions conjured images in his mind of gigantic and fearsome animals, albeit long dead ones. So long dead, in fact, that Tom’s mind boggled at the immense timescales, and he couldn’t understand how such specimens could have survived, and how Professor Cutter and his colleagues could discern so much about them from only a few bones.  
  
Tom also couldn’t help but notice how enthusiastic Stephen was about the professor’s work, demonstrating that he had read any and all books Cutter had recommended to him, and discussing various theories and ideas knowledgably and astutely. The stable master often smiled to himself as he thought of Lady Hart’s probable reaction to her son’s interest in science and academia. He suspected she would not deem it a suitable pursuit for a young man of good breeding.  
  
On this particular day Cutter was describing some of his exploits in South America, relating details of an excavation he had attended at a site high in the mountains, and enthusing about some of the wonderful species of birds and animals he and Claudia had seen there in the Amazonian rainforests. His stories were amusing and interesting, and the afternoon was pleasant, but as they moved slowly along Tom began to feel the now familiar stirrings of impatience at a situation he was unable to change.  
  
Glancing around, he happened to catch Stephen’s eye. Stephen smiled at him, and Tom smiled back, although he knew his effort was half-hearted at best. Sending him a quizzical look, Stephen nudged Plato forward, obviously intending on quietly asking Tom what was wrong. But Tom shook his head minutely and quickly asked Cutter a question, effectively sidestepping Stephen’s curiosity. But with his attention on Cutter he didn’t notice the flash of understanding that passed across Stephen’s face.  
  
Half an hour later they reached the stables, Stephen laughing at another one of Cutter’s exploits, and Tom with his mind already on the care the horses would require after their long ride.  
  
However, as the three of them dismounted, a skirted figure appeared from the direction of the house, striding hurriedly towards them. Tom recognised the person as Claudia, and quickly realised that she was annoyed about something.  
  
“Professor Nicholas Cutter, will you look at the state of yourself!” she exclaimed, as soon as she was within earshot. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the dinner party Lady Hart’s giving tonight? The one that you need to be washed, dressed, and on your best behaviour for? You should have been back an hour ago!”  
  
Cutter shrank before her wrath, while behind him Stephen looked vaguely guilty about keeping his guest out so long. “Yes, dear,” the professor murmured obediently.  
  
“You’re coming with me right away!” Claudia retorted, shooing Cutter towards the house. He went meekly, but as she followed him, Claudia looked back over her shoulder and winked, making Tom and Stephen choke with laughter.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready as well?” Tom asked, when Stephen made no move towards the house himself.  
  
“Probably,” Stephen replied offhandedly. “But it never takes me as long to put a clean shirt and cravat on as my mother seems to think it should. She forgets that men don’t have to deal with all the corsets, lace, and other fripperies that women adorn themselves with. I’ll take care of Plato first, and still have plenty of time.”  
  
“You don’t need to worry about Plato,” said Tom. “I can get Robert to…”  
  
“I’ll do it,” Stephen interrupted him firmly “I don’t want you thinking I’m some lazy layabout dissolute, after all!”  
  
Tom rolled his eyes, but allowed Stephen to lead Plato to his stall, calling Robert to take care of James instead, while he himself got started on Jessie.  
  
Losing himself in the familiar routine, it was some time before he realised that his pace had slowed to a dawdle, and that Robert had already finished with James, and left him contentedly munching on some oats in the next stall. Jessie was regarding Tom with some reproach, clearly disgruntled that didn’t yet have any oats of her own.  
  
Finishing up quickly, Tom gave Jessie her own portion of feed, adding an extra scoop to placate her, and then quickly checked on Plato. The gelding was also eating quietly, and Stephen was nowhere to be seen. Tom sighed. He’d probably realised he had less time than he thought and gone back to the house. He might have said good-bye, though…  
  
Then…  
  
“Tom?”  
  
Stephen’s voice was coming from the far end of the row of stalls. Curiously, Tom made his way down to the farthest stall, which was currently empty of any horsey occupant. What was Stephen doing down here?  
  
“Stephen? What are you doing?” he asked, peering into the stall to see Stephen leaning nonchalantly against the wooden partition that separated it from the next one along.  
  
“Waiting for you.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“So I can do this.” Without warning, Stephen took hold of Tom, pulling him into the stall and kissing him fiercely. Somewhat off-balance, Tom flailed for a second, until Stephen pushed him back against the more solidly built end wall of the stable block, The rough stones pressed against his back as Stephen pressed against his front, his tongue forcing its way into Tom’s mouth.  
  
The split second of surprise and doubt Tom had felt melted away under the onslaught, and he clutched at Stephen’s shoulders, trying to pull him even closer as he tangled his tongue with Stephen’s, kissing him back needily.  
  
“I’ve missed you, Tom,” Stephen muttered roughly against his lips. “And I think you’ve missed me, too.”  
  
He pushed his leg between Tom’s thighs, and Tom gasped aloud at the sudden pressure on his groin. Then his eyes widened as he clamped his mouth shut to stifle any more noise.  
  
Stephen’s expression was amused. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s no one else here. I told Robert and lads they wouldn’t be needed any more today, and gave them a few coins to take down to the tavern.” He shifted again against Tom, eyes flashing wickedly as Tom tried to smother another groan. “Although I suppose there’s always a chance someone else could come in. Mr. Lester, perhaps, looking for me? I’m going to be very late, you know.”  
  
“Perhaps you should…” Tom started unwillingly.  
  
“I most definitely should _not_ ,” Stephen said. “The dinner party can wait. You can’t.” He lowered his voice to a soft whisper. “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you.”  
  
“You haven’t been…” Tom began, but Stephen stopped the words with a kiss, his hands abruptly dropping to fumble at Tom’s trousers.  
  
Tom tried to move, tried to put himself where he thought Stephen would want him, but Stephen pushed him back against the wall again. “No, stay there,” he instructed, as he finally succeeded in unfastening the last button.  
  
Then, to Tom’s utter amazement, he dropped to his knees and leant forward to take Tom in his mouth.  
  
Tom hadn’t had much chance to practice his technique in this particular area – the Cutters had arrived shortly after his first clumsy attempt at it, and Stephen and he had had no time together since then.  
  
But he could tell immediately that Stephen was an expert at it. His mouth was hot and wet, and sinfully good. And as Stephen’s tongue stroked and curled around him, Tom could feel his hips rising to meet it, craving more contact, trying to push himself further into that wet heat.  
  
He suddenly became aware that he was moaning, and clapped a hand over his mouth. Stephen might have sent the boys home, but he wasn’t wrong about the possibility of someone else turning up unexpectedly. This really was a very stupid thing they were doing, but as Stephen sucked and licked at him, Tom decided he really couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
He could feel himself coming close to the edge, and risked uncovering his mouth to warn Stephen. But right at that moment Stephen suddenly swallowed, taking Tom in all the way to the root, and Tom couldn’t help the breathless cry that exploded from him as he suddenly came, filling Stephen’s mouth as he jerked forwards uncontrollably.  
  
Stephen continued to nuzzle him, licking gently at the softening flesh until Tom was clean. Then he clambered to his feet, kissing Tom possessively. Tom could taste himself in the other man’s mouth – it was a strange sensation, but undeniably erotic to know that it was because of what Stephen had just done.  
  
“What about you?” he murmured against Stephen’s lips. “Shall I…”  
  
“I can take care of myself,” Stephen muttered back. He smiled cheekily, and then stepped back, leaning against the opposite wall of the stall and quickly opening his trousers. Tom watched, mesmerised, as Stephen’s hand curled around himself, stroking lazily as his eyes fluttered shut, head tilting backwards to expose the long line of his throat.  
  
He had somehow managed to position himself in a shaft of sunlight that was slanting in through window high in the wall of the stable block. The golden light made Stephen appear to glow, and Tom was once again struck by how beautiful this man was, as he simultaneously wondered why Stephen had chosen _him_ , of all people, to grace with his favour.  
  
The sight made quite the picture, and as he watched Tom felt himself stirring again, not enough to harden, but more than enough to make his insides jump and squirm.  
  
Stephen was moaning softly as he touched himself, his hand speeding up fractionally, and suddenly Tom couldn’t help himself. Striding over to Stephen, he pulled the other man’s head down and kissed him as possessively as Stephen had kissed him earlier. Stephen came suddenly, his moans now swallowed by Tom’s mouth, and then buried his face in the crook of Tom’s neck until his breathing calmed.  
  
“Master Hart?”  
  
Tom jumped, and then spun around guiltily. It seemed Stephen’s prediction had come true, and Lady Hart _had_ sent Mr. Lester to find her son.  
  
But Stephen just chuckled quietly, and then raised his voice to call back. “I’m here, Lester. I’ll be out in a moment.” Swiftly, he rearranged his clothing, wiping his hand on the straw at his feet as Tom did up his own trousers.  
  
“Stay here,” Stephen whispered. “Don’t come out until after I’ve gone. We don’t want to give him ideas, do we?” He grinned impishly, and disappeared before Tom had a chance to frame a reply. Pressing himself into the corner of the stall, and still breathing heavily, the stable master could hear Mr. Lester demanding to know what had delayed Stephen so long, but the voices faded before he heard Stephen’s reply.  
  
Shaking his head to himself, Tom waited a few more seconds, and then ventured out into the passage. The stable was quiet, and Tom thanked his lucky stars they hadn’t been caught. They really shouldn’t have done that. But in his heart of hearts, he knew he would never have said no.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
The next day turned out to be the Cutters’ penultimate one at Hartshorn House before they continued on to Edinburgh, Tom finding out about the development when Stephen and the professor appeared at the stables that morning. Cutter himself expressed his regret at having to leave, but intimated that his wife had insisted it was time they went home, as they would not wish to outstay their welcome. Having witnessed Claudia’s influence over her husband the previous day, Tom had no doubt that her opinion would be the one that counted, and he smiled to himself.  
  
But for now, Stephen requested that Tom saddle up Plato and James for them, as they were to ride over to the neighbouring estate, belonging to one Sir Joshua Ravenscroft. Sir Joshua had been a guest at the previous evening’s dinner party, and had mentioned some rare books on the flora and fauna of the Americas that he had in his possession, which had aroused Cutter’s interest. They had an invitation to visit and view them that morning.  
  
Tom waved them off, and then set himself to the day’s tasks, delegating a few of them to Robert and lads, but keeping more than enough to keep himself busy until his noon meal.  
  
He was so busy, in fact, that noon came and went without him noticing, and it was only the complaints of his stomach that finally made him realise the time. Fetching out his lunch, he sat down in a sunny spot in the stable yard to eat it. It was only as he was finishing that it occurred to him to wonder where Stephen and the professor were. He was sure Stephen had said they would be back to sit down to lunch with Lady Hart and Claudia. So where were they?  
  
But right at that moment, he heard hoofbeats approaching the yard, and he smiled, mentally chastising himself for worrying unnecessarily. Cutter had probably just got distracted by something on the way back, that was all. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or perhaps the books had proved to be particularly fascinating.  
  
But wait. Tom cocked his head. That only sounded like one set of hooves, not two. What was going on?  
  
Then Cutter appeared at the entrance to the yard, walking slowly as he led James behind him. Of Plato there was no sign. Tom felt his worry reassert itself in full force.  
  
“Professor?” He started towards the other man. “What’s happened?”  
  
Cutter raised his head sharply. “Tom! Thank god. Quick, help me…”  
  
Tom suddenly realised that there was something slung over James’ back, dangling limply like a rag doll, jarring and flopping with every step James took.  
  
It was Stephen.


	8. Chapter 8

  
“What happened?” Tom asked frantically, reaching Professor Cutter just as he started trying to lift Stephen down from James’s back.  
  
“He fell off,” replied Cutter shortly, struggling to stop Stephen’s dead weight from sliding to the ground. Tom reached out quickly, placing his hands on Stephen’s hips to guide him downwards.  
  
Stephen was still unconscious, and Tom tried not to jostle him too much as he laid him gently on the floor. His skin was as pale as milk, and his breathing was fast and shallow. But what really captured Tom’s attention was the thin trickle of blood running down the side of Stephen’s face from his hairline. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from it, and he wondered just how much of a blow Stephen had taken…  
  
“Oh, good gracious, what on earth’s happened?”  
  
It was Claudia, arrived to find out what had become of her husband. She looked horrified by the situation she had stumbled into.  
  
“He fell from his horse,” repeated Cutter gruffly. “He’s unconscious.”  
  
“And now you’ve got him lying on this filthy floor?” exclaimed Claudia. “Nicholas Cutter, how could you be so stupid?”  
  
Cutter looked shamefaced, but Tom barely noticed. He was wholly focused on the insensible man lying on the ground in front of him, and as such was barely aware of Claudia telling her husband to get Stephen up to the house as quickly, but as carefully, as possible, while she went on ahead to arrange things, find out about contacting a doctor, and most importantly, speak to Lady Hart.  
  
But when the professor tried to slide his hands under Stephen’s inert body, Tom suddenly snapped back to himself, pushing Cutter away.  
  
“No, I’ll do it. You’ve walked all that way with James – you must be exhausted.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Cutter questioned. “To be honest, Tom, you don’t look much better than Stephen at the moment…”  
  
“I’ll do it,” said Tom adamantly. Cutter nodded understandingly, and moved back to give him room.  
  
It was an effort to get Stephen into his arms, particularly as Tom was trying to be as gentle with him as possible, but eventually the groom was upright, cradling Stephen against his chest as he set off after Claudia towards the house.  
  
It was only a short distance, but it felt like much longer. Tom’s back was protesting before he was even halfway, and he could feel the strength draining from his arms. But there was no question of not making it, and finally he was nearing the kitchen door.  
  
It was flung open as he approached, and two footmen emerged, Hettie hovering anxiously behind them as they relieved Tom of his burden and whisked it inside. It all happened so quickly that Stephen was gone almost before Tom had realised it. He hastened into the kitchen after the footmen, but they had already disappeared into the inner recesses of Hartshorn House, and worried as he was about Stephen, deeply ingrained training made Tom hesitate to follow them. It wasn’t his place.  
  
“Tom? Tom?” Hettie was plucking gently at his elbow. “Why don’t you come and sit down, dear? There’s nothing more you can do for the moment, and I think we could all do with a nice cup of tea.”  
  
Tom almost smiled. Tea. That was Hettie’s answer for everything. The world could be coming to end, and Hettie would think she could make things better with a cup of tea.  
  
However, Tom did as he was told, and sat down at the table. “Thank you, Hettie,” he said quietly. “That would be wonderful.”  
  
The hours passed, and as Hettie plied him with cup after cup of strong, sweet tea, Tom felt himself sinking into a kind of torpor, as his thoughts chased themselves round and round his head, one after the other. What if Stephen was badly hurt? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he died?  
  
He was almost dozing by the time Claudia came down to the kitchen, and only the light touch on his shoulder brought him back to awareness, blinking stupidly as he looked up at her sympathetic face.  
  
“Tom, are you alright?” The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, and Tom nodded slowly.  
  
“How’s Stephen?” he asked quietly, almost dreading to hear the answer.  
  
“He’s awake,” Claudia replied, smiling now. “He took a nasty blow to the head, and he was unconscious for nearly three more hours after Nicholas brought him back to the house. But he’s lucid now, and he knows his name and where he is. Dr. Gorston is hopeful he’ll make a full recovery, although he’ll be weak and uncomfortable for a while. Bed rest and observation have been prescribed.”  
  
As she spoke Tom felt a curious lightening of his body, as if a massive burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “So he’s not in any danger?” he said quickly.  
  
“The doctor doesn’t think so,” Claudia confirmed.  
  
“Thank god,” Tom muttered fervently. He smiled weakly at Claudia. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”  
  
“Well, I didn’t think anyone else would have,” said Claudia softly. There was understanding in her eyes – possibly too much – and Tom turned his face away for a few moments.  
  
“Oh, Mrs. Cutter!” Hettie bustled in from the pantry, her surprise at finding a family guest in the kitchen evident on her face. “Is there something I can help you with, ma’am?”  
  
“I was hoping I could prevail upon you to prepare a quick meal, Hettie,” replied Claudia. “The house has been in rather a state today, and I’m sure no one’s eaten since breakfast. Just something simple will do,” she added quickly.  
  
“Of course, ma’am,” said Hettie. “I shall put my girls to work right away.” She bustled out again as Claudia sat down opposite Tom.  
  
“What about you, Tom?” she asked. “Have you eaten anything today?”  
  
Tom tried to think. Had there been anything since this morning? “No,” he admitted eventually. “Although I’ve drunk a lot of Hettie’s tea. I think maybe that could sustain an army!”  
  
Claudia tutted, although her eyes were twinkling. “Well, in that case, Hettie should see to you first. We can’t have Hartshorn House’s stable master collapsing from starvation.”  
  
Tom started to demur, but his thoughts were abruptly hijacked by a sudden realisation. “Oh my god, Plato!” he exclaimed loudly. “Stephen’s horse. He never came back with the professor! Call myself a stable master? I should…”  
  
“Tom, Tom don’t worry yourself,” said Claudia soothingly. “Plato is safe and sound back in his stall where he belongs. Nicholas sent out Robert and one of your other lads to find him, and they discovered him not a mile down the road. He was making his way home on his own, the sensible animal.”  
  
“Oh.” Tom sank back into his seat – he had half-risen to his feet in his agitation. “And James?”  
  
“They took care of him too,” Claudia assured him.  
  
“What exactly happened?” Tom asked. “I’m still a little hazy on the details.”  
  
“Nicholas and Stephen were on their way back from Sir Joshua’s. They were about halfway home when Plato was startled by a rabbit and threw Stephen from his back.”  
  
“Plato can be a bit skittish,” Tom conceded. “But of all the stupid things to happen…”  
  
“But it’s turned out well,” Claudia said. “You don’t need to worry any more, Tom.”  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
Telling him not to worry was all very well, Tom reflected three days later, but that was easier said than done when he wasn’t able to see Stephen, and his only source of information was Claudia’s infrequent visits to the kitchen or the stable yard.  
  
There was no point in trying to gain admittance to Stephen, and so he hadn’t bothered. He suspected Lady Hart wouldn’t take kindly to a lowly groom making claims upon her son, particularly as, as far as he was aware, the woman had no idea of Stephen’s and his friendship, never mind the more…intimate…aspects of their relationship. And he much preferred to keep it that way.  
  
But it was hard. Despite Claudia’s continuing reassurances that Stephen was recovering well, until he could see the other man with his own eyes Tom wouldn’t quite believe it. He couldn’t shake from his mind’s eye the image of Stephen pale and still, with that trickle of bright red blood running down his face.  
  
Professor Cutter had come down to the stables as well on a couple of occasions. His sympathy was as genuine as his wife’s, however, his eloquence on the subject of the natural world didn’t appear to extend into other areas of human experience, and after some awkward condolences, and one or two stilted offers to ride out with him, Cutter had obviously decided it was best if Tom was left alone.  
  
And Tom was grateful for it. He knew the professor was only trying to be kind, in his own way, but at the moment Tom preferred solitude. Even Claudia’s visits were short – he eagerly awaited her reports of Stephen, but she never stayed with him long, and he was glad of that. Alone, he could deal with his feelings on his own terms, and if necessary successfully distract himself from them with hard work and daily tasks.  
  
But every time Claudia told him Stephen was a little better, Tom couldn’t help but wonder how much time would have to pass before he was _fully_ better. Before they could see each other again. He hoped Stephen realised the reasons behind Tom’s staying away – he didn’t want the other man to think he had been abandoned. Claudia had assured him that Stephen didn’t think that, but once again, he wouldn’t be sure until he could see and talk with Stephen for himself.  
  
Three days became a week, and then two weeks. Claudia intimated that Stephen was up and about, and slowly gathering his strength, but that Lady Hart and Dr. Gorston were agreed upon him confining himself to the house and gardens until he was properly recovered. Tom’s resolve was sorely tested upon hearing that news. Surely it couldn’t hurt to slip up to the gardens and speak to Stephen while he was walking on the lawns and terraces?  
  
But he stopped himself. For one thing, Stephen was almost certain to have other people with him. Stephen’s mother and his doctor could be relied upon to display the requisite levels of vigilance when it came to their charge. And Tom’s mind and heart shied away from the thought of a reunion with Stephen in the presence of others. Even Claudia or the professor would be too uncomfortable an audience.  
  
But more than that, Tom found himself inexplicably apprehensive about seeing Stephen again. They hadn’t been parted from each other’s company for so long since their friendship had begun. What if Stephen had forgotten him? What if he had come to his senses and decided that a mere groom was no longer an appropriate association for him? What if he shunned Tom’s company?  
  
Tom knew these thoughts were unworthy of himself and Stephen, but he couldn’t help thinking them. He was nervous and unhappy, and he missed the other man more than he’d thought possible.  
  
The waiting was becoming unbearable.


	9. Chapter 9

  
Three weeks to the day after Stephen’s accident, Tom was at one of the paddocks behind the main stable yard, checking on Jessie and James. None of the horses had been ridden much of late, for obvious reasons, and Tom had decided to turn them out into the fresh air so they could get some much needed exercise without placing too many demands on the stable master and his staff.  
  
Plato was in the next paddock along, watching hopefully as Tom fed apple slices to the other two horses. To Tom’s eyes the gelding still looked rather shamefaced about his part in Stephen’s misfortune, but that hadn’t stopped him bringing some treats along for Plato as well, and his smiled gently at the horse as he hung his head over the fence separating the two paddocks.  
  
When he heard footsteps behind him, he didn’t turn immediately, holding out the last of Jessie’s portions of apple as he waited for Robert, or whoever it was, to tell him what they wanted. It couldn’t be Claudia or the professor – they had finally left Hartshorn House the day before, having stayed far longer than they’d intended to help Stephen with his recovery.  
  
Both had visited the stables to say a final goodbye to Tom, and Claudia had quietly taken him aside to assure him once more that Stephen was very nearly recovered, and that Tom would be seeing him soon. Tom had smiled and nodded, and wondered if Claudia really believed that, or if she was just humouring him. He was grateful to her for trying to make him feel better, in any case.  
  
But now they were both gone, and Tom assumed that one of the lads had come to fetch him back to the stable for some necessary reason.  
  
“You spoil them too much, you know.”  
  
Tom startled visibly, dropping the remaining apples slices into the grass. James snorted in annoyance at the sudden disappearance of his treats, but Tom was too busy trying to calm his suddenly racing heart to notice.  
  
“I know,” he replied, cursing himself inwardly as he heard the slight tremor in his voice. “But I can’t help it. And don’t we all deserve spoiling now and again?”  
  
“Yes, we do.”  
  
The voice was closer now – right behind him, it sounded – and Tom was left with no choice but to turn around and face its owner.  
  
Stephen looked exactly the same as he had always done. A trifle paler, perhaps, but otherwise bearing no outward sign of three weeks’ infirmity. He looked…beautiful.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Tom asked stupidly.  
  
“I’ve come to see you, of course,” Stephen replied, frowning a little. “I missed you,” he added quietly.  
  
Tom ignored the sudden flutter in his chest those words caused. “But how did you get here? Claudia said you were restricted to the garden.”  
  
“Mr. Lester is a much easier person to get away from than the professor or his wife,” Stephen confessed, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “I expect right now he’s probably running around like a headless chicken, trying to find me before my mother discovers he lost me in the first place.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Tom admonished him. “They only have your best interests at heart. You shouldn’t worry them like that.”  
  
“Tom, if I hadn’t got away, I would have suffocated!” Stephen protested. “I’ve had enough of being fussed over and mollycoddled. I just want to be well again!”  
  
“You look well enough to me,” Tom observed. His heart was beating rather fast again. “You look…recovered.” He flushed, both of them well aware that he had been intending to say something entirely different.  
  
Stephen smiled softly. “I missed you,” he said again. “I so wanted you to come and see me, although it was probably best that you didn’t. But Claudia told me how worried you were.”  
  
“Of course I was worried,” said Tom. “I was so worried…” But he couldn’t bring himself to say what his fears had really been, and the words trailed away into silence.  
  
“Oh, Tom…” Stephen closed the final distance between them, wrapping his arms around Tom’s waist and resting his head on Tom’s shoulder. “How I wanted you.”  
  
“Well, I’m here now,” Tom heard himself saying, not bothering to disguise the wobble in his voice any more. “Everything will be alright now.”  
  
Stephen lifted his head suddenly and looked at Tom for a few seconds, a world of emotion reflected in the depths of his blue eyes. Then, abruptly, he leaned in and captured Tom’s lips with his own. Tom felt himself pushed back against the paddock fence as Stephen ravished his mouth, feeling that all he could do was hang on until the storm passed, drinking in the sensations he had been without for so long as he gave himself up to them.  
  
A sudden whiny and an insistent nudge to Tom’s shoulder ended the kiss rather sooner than Tom would have liked. He frowned as Stephen’s harsh breathing suddenly turned to chuckles.  
  
“What?”  
  
Stephen nodded at something behind him. Tom turned to see James regarding them with a distinctly disapproving expression on his horsey face. He smiled ruefully.  
  
“He’s probably right,” he said. “We really shouldn’t be doing this here.”  
  
“Well, let’s go somewhere else, then,” replied Stephen, in a low voice. “Please, Tom,” he begged urgently. “I need you…”  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
Summer was well advanced by now, and Tom enjoyed the sunshine and warmth on his face as he sat on the short grass of their usual trysting place. But even the clement weather and the quiet of the countryside couldn’t entirely banish his lingering worry for Stephen’s health.  
  
The other man had insisted he was well enough to ride Plato, disdaining Tom’s suggestion that they take the pony and trap instead with a muttered retort about not being an invalid. Tom hadn’t pressed the issue, and indeed, Stephen had coped remarkably well astride the tall horse, showing no signs of fatigue until they were nearly at their destination.  
  
But, despite Plato’s unusual placidity (was he still apologising for his previous transgression?), it was clear that Stephen’s strength was ebbing – the strain of controlling and directing his mount starting to tell on his still weakened constitution.  
  
Tom had made him sit down as soon as they arrived, this time brooking no argument on the subject, while he saw to the horses. By the time he had tethered the animals within reach of some decent grazing, Stephen had some colour in his cheeks again, and smiled sheepishly when Tom turned a stern look on him.  
  
And then, sitting down beside his companion, Tom had been unable to prevent his eyes from straying to the place where, so recently, Stephen’s blood had issued from his scalp, endangering his life.  
  
Reaching out, he had run his hand lightly over the spot, caressing Stephen’s skin, and letting the silky strands of his hair slip through his fingers.  
  
Stephen had born the exploration patiently for a few moments, before reaching up himself to trap Tom’s hand with his own, bringing it down to his mouth so he could kiss the palm softly.  
  
“Tom, I’m alright. Really. Maybe I’m not quite as recovered as I would wish to be, but I’m not going to suffer a sudden relapse, or keel over right in front of you.”  
  
Now it was Tom’s turn to smile sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I was just so…”  
  
“Worried. I know,” Stephen finished for him. “But I will be well again, so there’s no need for your concern any more.”  
  
He pushed at Tom until he acquiesced and lay back in the grass. Stephen’s face was now between him and the sky, and his eyes flickered to the other man’s hairline once more.  
  
Stephen huffed in amused annoyance. “Stop thinking,” he instructed, leaning in to kiss Tom in a way designed to achieve exactly that outcome.  
  
Tom sighed against Stephen’s mouth, sliding his arms round the other man’s waist and pulling him down more firmly, so that Stephen’s body was blanketing his own as they exchanged lazy kisses in the sunshine. He had missed this so much it made him tremble, and unconsciously he tightened his grip on the other man.  
  
It was some moments before he realised that Stephen was murmuring his name over and over again against his lips.  
  
“Tom…oh, Tom…”  
  
Tom felt his heart clench unexpectedly. It seemed that Stephen wasn’t quite as insouciant about his illness as he was claiming to be.  
  
He cocked his head slightly, making Stephen draw away. Tom didn’t speak, and Stephen smiled tremulously. “I missed you,” he said simply, and heartfeltly.  
  
“I know.”  
  
They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments longer, and then suddenly Stephen’s lips were back on his, devouring him, trying to climb inside him as his hands scrabbled desperately at Tom’s clothes.  
  
Tom’s own hands were scarcely less busy, but it was Stephen who had the first triumph, pulling Tom’s shirt open, his lips immediately leaving Tom’s mouth and trailing a path down his throat and along his collarbone until he found one of Tom’s nipples, his tongue lapping at it like a cat lapping at cream.  
  
“Oh, god…”  
  
Tom arched up slightly towards that sinful mouth, his fingers grasping uselessly at the shoulders of Stephen’s own shirt – in this position he hadn’t a hope of removing it.  
  
Stephen switched his attention to the other nipple, torturing Tom for a few more long moments before he abruptly sat back, removing his shirt himself and then struggling out of his breeches and riding boots. Tom followed suit, his movements graceless and undignified in his haste, but he didn’t care.  
  
When they were both naked Stephen immediately fell on him again, kissing every bit of Tom’s torso that he could see, or so it felt Tom. He moaned softly every time Stephen’s mouth returned to his nipples, feeling himself hardening as Stephen ministrations continued.  
  
“Stephen…” The plea was breathless and inarticulate, and yet Stephen divined what he meant instantly. Pausing only to kiss Tom’s breath away once more, he rolled away, nudging and pushing at Tom until the other man moved on to his side.  
  
Stephen curled around him from behind, his hand and lips stroking Tom’s shoulders as Tom felt Stephen’s own hardness nestling against his buttocks.  
  
“Wait…” he said, the word sounding strangled even to his own ears. “We need…”  
  
“In my jacket,” Stephen answered instantly, making Tom chuckle even in that moment.  
  
“You were very certain of yourself, weren’t you?” he said jokingly.  
  
Stephen’s only answer was a non-too-gentle nip to his shoulder, and Tom closed his eyes briefly, reaching out blindly to grab at Stephen’s jacket and extract the little bottle of oil from one of its pockets.  
  
Taking it from him, Stephen rearranged himself slightly so he could slide his hand between his and Tom’s body. Then Tom felt a slick finger running down the cleft between his cheeks, and his gasped softly as it pushed against the tight ring of muscle, the oil easing its passage as it slipped inside Tom’s body.  
  
“Are you alright?” Stephen asked softly against his ear.  
  
Tom didn’t trust himself to speak, so instead he nodded emphatically. Stephen laughed almost silently, and then nipped at his shoulder again. He thrust gently with the finger a few times, before adding a second one, twisting and stretching until he brushed the spot that made Tom twitch and whine with pleasure.  
  
“Stephen, please…”  
  
This time it was Stephen who didn’t speak, but Tom felt him pull his fingers away, his knee pushing between Tom’s thighs to spread his legs a little. Then, after some fumbling, he felt the head of Stephen’s erection against his entrance.  
  
It had been too long since he had felt this, and it hurt, just a little, but as Stephen sheathed himself fully in one smooth thrust, Tom heard himself expel his breath in one long, wavering moan. It felt good beyond all words to describe it, and he clutched at the arm Stephen had snaked round his waist.  
  
“Please…” he muttered again brokenly.  
  
This wasn’t the position for anything fast and furious, and as Stephen rolled and flexed his hips, driving slow and deep, Tom’s entire focus narrowed down to the feeling of Stephen inside him, his thrusts angled to bring Tom maximum pleasure, making him whimper and shudder helplessly.  
  
He knew he should be contributing more – Stephen was still recovering, after all, and he shouldn’t be taxing his strength like this. But Stephen didn’t seem to want any help, his slow and sure movements proving to be a sweet torture that Tom wanted to last forever.  
  
Stephen was murmuring Tom’s name again, a whispered chant every time he thrust into the other man’s body, and Tom found himself whispering back, repeating Stephen’s name in tandem with the other man’s litany.  
  
Extracting his arm from Tom’s fierce grip, Stephen curled his hand around Tom’s length, stroking languidly. The stimulation was too much, and yet at the same time not enough, and Tom groaned desperately, helplessly poised between wanting to push back against Stephen’s body, and push forward into his hand.  
  
Stephen’s breath was ragged now, and Tom’s own was coming in moans and gasps. He could feel the heat starting to pool in his belly, the telltale tightening in his balls that promised orgasm. But he couldn’t come, not like this, and he suddenly feared that Stephen might keep him on this edge forever.  
  
God…please…” he begged frantically. “Please, Stephen…”  
  
Abruptly, Stephen’s hand tightened around him, gripping almost painfully as one particularly deep thrust sent sparks off behind Tom’s eyes. With a shout he came hard, jerking and twitching in Stephen’s hand as his body convulsed helplessly.  
  
But even through his own pleasure he could feel the exact moment that Stephen followed him over the edge, the other man groaning his name loudly as he emptied himself into Tom’s body, his own gasps and shudders proving just how long a wait it had been for him, too.  
  
For long moments the two men just lay there, spent and trembling, their breathing quieting only slowly as they calmed. Then Stephen dropped a soft kiss on Tom’s shoulder, and sighed quietly. “Oh, Tom,” he whispered, his words almost too faint for Tom to hear. “How I wish…”  
  
But what he hoped for he didn’t say, and Tom wisely kept silent. The sunshine felt good on his skin, and Stephen was recovered. That was all he needed.


	10. Chapter 10

  
Tom intensely disliked his rare trips into town. Even the small local town a few miles from the Hart estate was too busy and too crowded for his taste. He much preferred the open countryside to the hustle and bustle of people going about their business.  
  
However, sometimes a visit was an unfortunate necessity. Most of the supplies for the stables were delivered directly to the estate, but every so often something extra was required – a different tool for mending tack, a new article of clothing when an old one had finally given out, or some other bit or bob that couldn’t wait.  
  
Today it was a new hoof-pick. Tom had purchased a couple (to be on the safe side) from the ironmongers on the high street, and was now wending his way back to the coaching inn where he’d left the pony and cart, weaving to avoid people far more intent on their own shopping than getting out of his way, and trying to avoid stepping in the piles of horse droppings that were inevitably left on the road surface after a conveyance had passed by.  
  
The rumbling of carriage wheels bouncing through the ruts alerted him to the approach of another vehicle, and he stepped off the road along with several people around him, pausing under the awning of flower shop to let the vehicle go by.  
  
Not many people were perusing the outdoor displays of brightly coloured blooms, and it was a little quieter here than out on the main street. Thus Tom was able to hear quite clearly the voice that spoke from the other side of a set of shelves groaning under the weight of a multitude of potted plants.  
  
“I’m really not sure why I bother to stay there any longer. It’s quite clear to me that Master Stephen does not…appreciate…my company.”  
  
The voice was Mr. Lester’s.  
  
“So why do you stay, then, James?”  
  
Peering through a convenient gap between two pots, Tom could see Lester standing with a lady he didn’t recognise. She was tall and fashionably dressed, with dark brown hair gathered to the back of her head. They were turned slightly away from him, examining some large bouquets of roses, but even so, Tom was able to discern the clever, somewhat predatory expression on her face.  
  
“Because it’s a good position, and Lord Hart pays me well to be a ‘companion’ to his son,” Lester answered the lady’s question.  
  
“From what I hear, Lord Hart probably doesn’t even realise he’s paying you at all,” the lady said snidely.  
  
“It is entirely possible,” Lester agreed, his own voice no less cutting.  
  
Shocked, Tom turned to leave. He’d never particularly liked Mr. Lester, but he’d never expected to hear the man disparage his employer in such a manner. He wondered if he should tell Stephen what he’d heard. No, he decided. It would only cause the young man pain. And besides, he suspected Stephen was already well aware of Lester’s nature, even if he didn’t know _quite_ how awful the man could be.  
  
But then Lester spoke again, and Tom found himself halting abruptly, listening the man’s next words with mounting dismay.  
  
“No,” sighed Lester. “Master Hart clearly doesn’t want me as a companion. He’s far too busy cosying up to that grubby groom from the stables. Honestly, I have no idea what could be so fascinating about the man’s company.”  
  
“A groom?” The lady gasped theatrically. “How common!”  
  
“They spend as much time together as they possibly can,” Lester continued. “They’re always out riding together, trotting off to who knows where, and not reappearing until Lady Hart is sick with worry.”  
  
Tom frowned. He sincerely doubted that Lady Hart had ever even noticed Stephen’s absences, unless they directly inconvenienced her in some way. But Lester wasn’t done yet.  
  
“I don’t know what they find to talk about for so long,” he said. Then he paused. “That is, if talking is _all_ they’re doing…” he added pointedly.  
  
The lady’s second gasp was even more overdone, its insincerity obvious. “But…but…that’s disgusting!” she exclaimed. “You should tell Lord and Lady Hart of these suspicions! They must know how their son is being corrupted.”  
  
Lester suddenly seemed to think he had gone too far. “I have no proof, of course,” he said quickly. “And I wouldn’t want to upset my employers unnecessarily. I’m not sure this is an appropriate subject for me to be discussing with you, my dear. I fear I have shocked you.”  
  
The lady waved his concerns away, clearly eager for more gossip, but Lester had turned the conversation firmly on to less controversial topics, and she was forced to concede.  
  
Tom stepped quietly away, his stomach churning. Had he and Stephen really been so indiscreet? Was everyone on the Hart estate talking about them in this manner? Suddenly kissing by the paddock and tomfoolery in the stables didn’t seem quite so clever.  
  
He needed to talk to Stephen.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
However, it wasn’t as easy to raise the topic as he had hoped. How did one tell one’s lover that their relationship was the stuff of common gossip? Tom was embarrassed and upset enough about the situation as it was, without the added pain that would result from enlightening Stephen.  
  
His thoughts went round in circles during the whole of their morning ride, and he drew one or two odd looks from Stephen for his silence. But clearly his behaviour wasn’t strange enough to excite actual comment, and when they reached their destination Stephen immediately threw himself down on the grass with a book Professor Cutter had given him, promising to, “just finish this chapter.” He was already reading as Tom sat down beside him, still dithering.  
  
This was no good. He would just have to say it. Stephen had to know, no matter how painful it might be.  
  
“I…er…heard something in town yesterday,” Tom started tentatively.  
  
“Mmhmm?” Stephen’s eyes didn’t leave the page. He clearly wasn’t really listening.  
  
Tom tried again. “I heard something about you.”  
  
“Yes?” Stephen replied absently.  
  
“About you and _me_ ,” Tom continued insistently.  
  
That worked. Stephen lowered the book slowly and turned to look at Tom.  
  
“About you and me?” he repeated.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What? What did you hear?”  
  
Tom recounted the conversation he’d overheard between Lester and his lady friend, finding himself unable to meet Stephen’s eye as he reached its conclusion.  
  
“Damn.” Stephen’s curse was quiet but vehement. He was silent for a moment. “Thank god he hasn’t mentioned anything to father and mother,” he said eventually.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Tom asked.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Perhaps we should…”  
  
“End it?” Stephen looked up sharply. “Haven’t we been here before? We both know that neither of us wants that. Don’t we?”  
  
“No, of course I don’t want that,” Tom said in a low voice. “But even if he hasn’t told your father and mother, Lester has clearly mentioned his suspicions to other people. And even if he’s only told the lady I saw yesterday, that’s probably enough. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to keep such information to herself.”  
  
“Did you get a clear look at her?” Stephen asked.  
  
“Not really,” replied Tom. “She seemed like a…fashionable…woman. And Lester seemed to know her quite well.”  
  
“I think I know her too,” said Stephen. “I believe it might be the same lady Mr. Lester has brought up to the house once or twice. Her name is Helen-something. I can’t remember what. I never took to her much. She always seemed a little false and insincere. One of those women who is always out for what they can get.”  
  
“Well, I can tell you that she sounded entirely too interested in what Lester had to tell her,” Tom said pointedly.  
  
“She can’t spread such gossip around,” Stephen asserted. “Not without some kind of proof. Sullying the good name of a wealthy landowner’s son will do her no favours if she can’t prove it. And it sounds like Lester has realised that, too.”  
  
“But you can’t be sure,” Tom argued.  
  
“No, I can’t,” Stephen admitted. “But I also know I don’t want Lester to scare us into ending something wonderful,” he continued quietly.  
  
Tom sighed. “Me either,” he said. “But this _is_ serious, Stephen. We can’t just ignore it.”  
  
“We won’t,” Stephen promised. He rolled on to his side, propping his head up on one hand while the other cupped Tom’s face. “Tom, when we started this, I knew exactly what I was getting into. But I’m worried that you didn’t. It was always possible there was going to be some gossip. What we’re doing is frowned upon, to say the least. We could both get into a lot of trouble if we were ever truly discovered. My name might give me some protection, and you know I would do everything I could to protect you too. But it could ruin your life. And I could never allow that to happen. Please, Tom. Please be sure that you want to continue this.”  
  
Raising his own hand, Tom laid it over the one caressing his cheek. “I am,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to lose you, Stephen. I don’t. But we must do something about this situation.”  
  
“We will,” Stephen said. “ _I_ will, Tom. I promise.” Leaning forward, he kissed Tom softly. “Everything will be alright, Tom. Please believe me.”  
  
Lying back in the grass and gathering Stephen into his arms, Tom allowed himself to believe.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
But during the next few days Mr. Lester seemed to be everywhere. Tom couldn’t turn around without the man appearing. Wherever the stable master went – the stables, the paddocks, the lanes – Lester was there also.  
  
Tom knew this wasn’t really the case. Lester couldn’t really be following him around in the hopes of catching him doing something…untoward. He was imagining it. Just as he was imagining the knowing sneer on Lester’s face whenever he saw him.  
  
To make matters worse, Stephen had been waylaid by several matters of estate business, and Tom had barely seen him lately. He had no one to tell his worries to, and his belief that things would be well was starting to waver.  
  
By the time Stephen had concluded his business, and was free to go out riding again, Tom was thoroughly unnerved by the whole situation. It didn’t help that when he arrived at the stables, Stephen’s face was wreathed in smiles, something that was completely at odds with Tom’s own melancholy mood. He’d allowed himself to be lulled by Stephen’s previous words, but now, with things the way they were, he’d begun to re-entertain his original doubts about the wisdom of continuing their affair, no matter how painful those doubts were to him.  
  
“Good morning, Tom!” said Stephen cheerfully.  
  
“Good morning, sir,” Tom replied carefully, determined to keep their relationship on a correct footing while there was any chance of being observed.  
  
Stephen looked momentarily confused by Tom’s mode of address, but then appeared to realise what Tom was doing. A tiny nod of his head demonstrated his approval.  
  
“Isn’t it a lovely morning?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Tom didn’t think ‘lovely’ was quite the right word, but it wouldn’t do to disagree with the young master.  
  
Stephen stepped a little closer, although still remaining a polite distance away, and lowered his voice slightly.  
  
“I believe I have solved our little problem,” he said.  
  
“You have?” asked Tom, surprised.  
  
“I have,” replied Stephen. “I spoke to Lester yesterday.”  
  
“Not about us?” Tom was hard pressed to keep his expression neutral, even as his tone of voice was quietly horrified.  
  
“Of course not,” said Stephen. “What do you take me for? I simply pointed out to him what he already knew – that we hadn’t spent much time in each other’s company since our return from London, and that it seemed senseless for him to continue here when he could lead a life of his own somewhere else. He was disappointed to lose his comfortable position, but he couldn’t disagree with me. Not when I was so clearly right.”  
  
“But what about Lady Hart?” questioned Tom hesitantly. “You’ll pardon me for saying so, but she’s always seemed rather fond of Mr. Lester.”  
  
“Oh, she is,” said Stephen lightly. “In fact, I sometimes wonder if she wouldn’t have preferred to have someone like Lester as a son.”  
  
“Don’t say that!” exclaimed Tom. “She’s your mother and she loves you, Stephen.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure she does,” said Stephen quietly. He paused for a moment, and then continued. “Anyway, I presented the case to my mother in much the same light as I did to Lester, and she couldn’t disagree with me either. The logic was irrefutable.”  
  
“So he’s leaving?”  
  
“Packing his bags this very moment,” Stephen confirmed. “My parents will support him until he finds other employment, and I very strongly suggested that the best place to do that might be in London. He departs this afternoon.”  
  
Tom felt his bad mood lift slightly, although he still felt compelled to show some kind of reason. “We still need to be careful, though,” he asserted. “We can’t let this situation occur again, Stephen. It’s too dangerous. For both of us.”  
  
“We will,” Stephen assured him. “We will be careful. Don’t worry, Tom. Things will be fine now. You’ll see.”


	11. Chapter 11

Autumn was approaching. Tom could see it in the faint golden hue of the leaves, and smell it in the slight crispness of the air. He could sense it in the way all country folk were attuned to the changing of the seasons, and for some reason it made him sad.  
  
Since Lester had been sent packing, the weeks had passed quietly and smoothly, with nothing to disturb the tranquillity of the summer days as they had gradually slipped away one by one, like beads on a string.  
  
But the end of summer was still some little way off yet, and the sun was still warm on Tom’s skin as he lay in the grass, one hand clutching at the tussocks as if to steady himself, while the other one tangled in Stephen’s unruly hair as his head bobbed up and down animatedly.  
  
Stephen only seemed to get better at this, Tom thought dazedly, as the other man’s tongue did something particularly obscene to him and he groaned loudly. He himself had improved somewhat, but he still wasn’t anywhere near this skilful, and silently he vowed to practice more. He was sure Stephen wouldn’t mind.  
  
Then his thoughts scattered again as Stephen applied himself even more diligently to his task, seemingly determined to pull Tom apart at the seams before he let him come.  
  
“Stephen…god… _please_ …”  
  
Tom wasn’t above begging to get what he wanted, especially when Stephen’s lips and tongue were driving him so utterly crazy, almost daring him to crack, to just take what he wanted from Stephen’s mouth and damn the consequences.  
  
But with his last shred of willpower he held back, not wanting to hurt Stephen in his selfishness.  
  
However, begging had always seemed to work well in the past, so he tried it again.  
  
“Please…Stephen…”  
  
Fingers stroking gently across his balls, accompanied by a gentle scrape of teeth along his length, had Tom coming suddenly and completely, almost yelling as Stephen swallowed down the results of his orgasm, his fingers continuing their soft tickling between Tom’s legs until his shudders calmed and his breathing became less heavy.  
  
Tom reached out a shaky hand, intent on drawing Stephen towards him, more than willing to return the favour. But Stephen abruptly rolled away, sitting up and turning his back, his skin mere inches beyond Tom’s questing fingertips.  
  
And that was something else Tom had sensed. Stephen might have thought he’d done well at hiding it, but Tom had picked up on his companion’s melancholy mood almost as soon as Stephen had appeared earlier in the day.  
  
But he hadn’t questioned Stephen about it, thinking perhaps that the other man had felt the same change in the air as he had. That he too was regretting the end of a golden summer, and necessity of change.  
  
Little did he know how right he was.  
  
Stephen sighed, the sound boding nothing good, and Tom’s hand dropped as he sat up, instead catching hold of his shirt to cover him a little as he took in the tense set of Stephen’s shoulders and back.  
  
“Stephen? What is it? What’s wrong?”  
  
Stephen sighed again, and then spoke in a voice so low that Tom had to strain to catch his words.  
  
“It appears I am to be married,” he said, without preamble.  
  
“What? What do you mean?”  
  
“Miss Abigail Maitland,” Stephen pronounced flatly. “The woman my mother has selected to be my wife.”  
  
Tom almost laughed. This again? “Just tell your mother she’s not right for you. That you’re not suited or something,” he said dismissively.  
  
“No, Tom,” replied Stephen quietly. “You don’t understand. I don’t have a choice in this. My mother is tired of waiting. She refuses to accept ‘she’s not right’ or ‘we’re not suited’ any more. Abigail Maitland is the woman I _will_ marry.”  
  
Dismay trickled down Tom’s spine like ice. “But she can’t _make_ you, surely? She can’t force you?”  
  
“If I don’t marry and produce and heir, then what use am I to her? She might as well not have a son.”  
  
“Don’t say that, Stephen! She’s your mother, and she loves you. She won’t make you do something you don’t want to do.”  
  
“She will.” Stephen’s voice was miserable. “And what’s more, she’s right to.”  
  
The trickle became a downright torrent. “Stephen, what are you saying?”  
  
“She’s right,” Stephen repeated tiredly. “I have responsibilities. I can’t just let the Hart name die. My parents would be devastated. And so would I.”  
  
“Oh. And where does this leave me?” Tom asked quietly. Dismay had coalesced into something else, and his voice had a hard edge.  
  
“Tom, I…”  
  
“You can’t be married and be with me. And as you’ve said, you have no choice when it comes to Miss Abigail Maitland. You must choose her. Which means that you won’t choose me.”  
  
“I don’t want to make that choice, but…”  
  
“But you have. And I must say that it doesn’t seem to have been that difficult for you.”  
  
“How can you say that?” Stephen looked devastated by the accusation, but Tom was in no mood to give him the benefit of the doubt.  
  
“Was I nothing more than a distraction to you? A plaything to keep you occupied while you made up your mind what you really wanted?”  
  
“Tom, you know that’s not true!”  
  
“Do I? It seems like you’re perfectly happy to toss me aside. I can’t help you produce your precious heir. I can’t help you preserve your precious family name. So clearly I’m no use to you at all.”  
  
“Tom, you knew it would come to this eventually…”  
  
Ignoring the reasoning tone in Stephen’s voice, Tom ploughed on. “And what about your pretty words, Stephen? Your ‘everything will be alright’, your reassurances? How naïve I was to believe you! You made me think we were equal in this. But you’ve used me, taking what you want until it’s time to move on to something else!”  
  
“Tom, please…”  
  
“I thought you cared about me,” Tom said in a savage voice. “I can’t believe I actually managed to convince myself that you might…” He cut himself off mid sentence, and instead scrambled to his feet, re-donning his clothing with as much dignity as he could muster.  
  
“I do care about you, Tom! I do! You know I do! I just…”  
  
“…have to get married,” Tom finished for him icily. “And what will you expect me to do once you’re married, Stephen? Return to the stables and be content with ‘yes, sirs’ and ‘no, sirs’ while you start a life with your new bride?”  
  
“Tom, you know you could never be just a servant to me.”  
  
“But what else could I be? I very much doubt your wife would allow you to carry on with me in the fields while she waits patiently at home.”  
  
“I…”  
  
“And you know you would never do that in any case.”  
  
“No,” Stephen conceded. “I wouldn’t.”  
  
“So, I repeat, where does this leave me? Right back where I started, that’s where.” Hastily, Tom untethered Jessie, trying not to betray how much his hands were shaking, and climbed on to her back. Before he rode off he looked down at Stephen once more. “Except now I know what it’s like to lose you.”  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
The stable yard was deserted when Tom returned, a fact for which he was extremely grateful. Dismounting Jessie rather awkwardly, he stood for moment, his cheek pressed against the horse’s velvety nose, breathing deeply and gathering himself.  
  
Then he led Jessie into the stable and set about untacking her and rubbing her down, taking comfort in the familiar acts, losing himself in the routine, thinking of nothing but the horse’s comfort and needs.  
  
Eventually, however, Jessie was stabled and contentedly munching on a portion of oats, and Tom found himself listlessly wandering back outside, somehow not quite sure what to do with himself.  
  
But the yard was still empty, and for the first time Tom felt a twinge of unease. Where was everyone? Robert and John had the day off, he knew, but there should have been two other lads on duty here. Where had they gone?  
  
He heard the erratic footsteps only a few seconds before their owner appeared from the direction of the house. Hettie came into view, her face red and her skirts and apron flying. She was breathing heavily, and Tom started towards her in some alarm.  
  
“Hettie, what is it? What are you doing here?”  
  
“Oh, Tom, you’re here!” The cook sounded profoundly relieved. “Is Master Stephen with you? Everyone’s in such a state up at the house, no one else thought to come and see if you’d returned yet.”  
  
“Stephen’s not with me, Hettie,” Tom replied, guiding her to a bale of straw and helping her to sit on it, settling himself beside her. “Now, calm down and tell me what’s happening. Do you know where my two boys are? They should be here.”  
  
“They’ve gone off to fetch the doctor,” gasped Hettie. “Although, heaven help us, he won’t be needed now.”  
  
“What do you mean? Hettie, _what’s going on_?”  
  
“It’s Lord Hart,” said Hettie. “He’s dead.”  
  
There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch into an eternity.  
  
“What?” said Tom quietly.  
  
“He had a funny turn. The mistress sent for the doctor, but it’s too late now. He’s gone, and there ain’t no one can bring him back. Tom, where is Master Stephen? He must be told.”  
  
Tom rose to his feet suddenly. “I know where he is, Hettie. I’ll fetch him back.”  
  
But the clatter of hooves announced Stephen’s return before Tom had taken more than a few steps towards the stable. Seeing him, Tom felt a multitude of confused emotions awaken in his breast, and he found himself wishing that there was someone else who could do this.  
  
But there wasn’t. It had to be him.  
  
Catching hold of Plato’s reigns as Stephen dismounted, Tom spoke quietly. “Stephen.”  
  
“Tom?” Stephen's voice was uncertain, and Tom knew what the other man must be hoping he’d say. Resolutely, he thrust his own feelings aside.  
  
“Something’s happened, Stephen,” he continued. “It’s your father…”  
  
“What about my father?” The question was sharp and fearful.  
  
“He’s…he’s dead. I’m so sorry, Stephen.”  
  
“What? But he can’t be!”  
  
“Stephen, I…”  
  
“I spoke to him only this morning! He was a little tired, but no more than that. He can’t be…he can’t be…”  
  
Tom stretched out a comforting hand, but Stephen evaded it, stumbling backwards out of reach. His eyes were wild, and he looked almost ill.  
  
“He can’t be…” he repeated. And then, all of a sudden, he was gone, bolting towards the house, not waiting, not stopping, not heeding Tom and Hettie’s anxious cries.  
  
Helplessly, Tom turned to Hettie. But the cook only looked at him sympathetically.  
  
“There’s nothing you can do for him, Tom. He’ll find out the truth soon enough, god help him. Just let him be.”  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
Tom was torn. Part of him wanted to run and find Stephen, to comfort him as he grieved for his father. But the other part of him still burned with anger at the humiliation of what Stephen had done to him.  
  
Stephen knew that Tom cared for him. He _knew_ that. And yet he seemed perfectly happy to throw Tom over for some woman he’d never even met.  
  
Deep down, Tom knew he was being unfair. He knew Stephen didn’t really want to marry this Abigail Maitland, and that he really _had_ been left with very little choice in the matter. He also knew that Stephen deserved the chance at a family and an heir – things that Tom would never be able to give him.  
  
And yet, right at this moment, he just couldn’t forgive Stephen for making Tom care about him and then tossing him aside. He couldn’t forgive him for going along with his mother’s plans, and not even putting up a shred of a fight.  
  
And that was why he didn’t go to Stephen. Because he wasn’t sure if, when he saw him, he’d hug him or punch him.  
  
The funeral was three days later. Tom was surprised at the number of people who attended it. Lord Hart had been confined to his wheelchair and manor for several years, and had never really been in the way of receiving many visitors. But there was quite a crowd at the graveside, a mute testament to how well regarded his lordship had been during his lifetime.  
  
Tom didn’t actually recognise any of the faces – he was too far away from the grave to make out many features. Most of the servants had worked on the Hart estate for long enough that they had been invited to pay their respects, although they’d been instructed to keep their distance from the great and the good while they did so.  
  
Two people Tom could discern, however, were Lady Hart and Stephen. The former was dressed in the requisite mourning wear, although it was hard to tell if she were really grieving or not. Her upright stance and expressionless face gave nothing away.  
  
Stephen, however, looked devastated by his father’s death. Even from a distance Tom could tell how tired he was, how numbed by shock. Despite Lord Hart’s invalid state (or perhaps because of it?), Stephen had been close to his father during his declining years, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Hart might have had something different to say about Stephen’s impending marriage. He supposed that now they’d never know.  
  
The service was brief, the visitors invited back to the house for refreshments. The servants, of course, were expected to return to their duties. Tom pulled off the black armband that all the staff had been given to wear as he directed his footsteps back towards the stables, dropping it on a dusty shelf as he set to mucking out the stalls with a will.  
  
The next few days were quiet. Most of the mourners didn’t stay beyond the day of the funeral, although one or two of Lady Hart’s closest friends remained a little longer to ‘help her through her difficult time.’ But Tom saw no friends remain to comfort Stephen, and his heart ached for the young man even as his anger refused to abate.  
  
But even Lady Hart’s companions only stayed for a few days longer. She seemed to get over her ‘difficult time’ very quickly, and it was even gossiped among the servants that she was actually glad her husband was dead. “Much easier to run things as she see fit without having to do everything in his name,” was the vicious rumour that Hettie confided to Tom one evening.  
  
Thus no one was much surprised when, barely a week after the funeral, Lady Hart invited Abigail Maitland and her cousin to stay at Hartshorn House.


	12. Chapter 12

Tom wasn’t supposed to be present when Abigail Maitland arrived at Hartshorn House. It was a little difficult to avoid, however, when the young woman in question rode straight into his stable yard, completely unannounced, and looking as comfortable on a horse as he himself was.  
  
For a moment he didn’t know who she was. He assumed she was a young lady who had got lost. Separated from her party perhaps, in a part of the country she didn’t know, and in need of assistance.  
  
But when she hopped agilely from her mount’s back, landing lightly on the ground, and came towards him with her hand stuck out in front of her, he began to get the inkling that perhaps he wasn’t _quite_ correct.  
  
“Abigail Maitland. How do you do?”  
  
Utterly bemused, Tom shook the young woman’s hand almost automatically. What was she doing here? And on her own, no less? He’d known she was arriving today, of course, but he also knew that she and her cousin were supposed to have been picked up from the nearest town by the estate carriage. He’d waved the coach off himself not an hour previously.  
  
“I…er…” With an effort, he pulled himself together. “Thomas Ryan. I’m the stable master here.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ryan. Or perhaps I can call you Thomas? I do so hate excessively formality, don’t you?”  
  
Unwillingly, Tom felt himself start to smile. Abigail Maitland wasn’t quite like anyone he’d met before.  
  
“Whatever you like, Miss. But if I might ask, how have you come to be here? A carriage was sent to pick you up. And shouldn’t your cousin be with you?”  
  
Miss Maitland grimaced. “Oh, I hate waiting around,” she replied. “I much prefer to make my own way. So we hired some horses, and came straight here.”  
  
“We…?”  
  
But Tom’s question was answered, not by Miss Maitland, but by a sharp cry from the entrance to the stable yard.  
  
“Abigail!”  
  
Tom turned to see a second rider entering the yard, this time a young man. He was clearly much less at ease on a horse than Miss Maitland, something further proved by the fact that he all but fell to the ground as he dismounted. Miss Maitland laughed as Tom stepped forward to offer him a steadying hand, but the young man waved him away, looking somewhat embarrassed as he glared at the young lady.  
  
“Abigail!” he said again. “What were you thinking? It’s back enough that you insisted on this shocking display of independence, but to then ride off and leave me behind…anything might have happened to you!”  
  
“Thomas, meet my cousin, Connor Temple. He’s also my guardian, although sometimes I think he wishes he wasn’t!” She smiled impishly, and Tom fought to keep a straight face. He could see that Mr. Temple was most upset, and decided it would be best to try and smooth things out.  
  
“Very pleased to meet you, sir. As you can see, Miss Maitland is fine. May I take this opportunity to welcome you both to Hartshorn House?” Tom hadn’t expected to be the welcoming committee, but it seemed he had been given the job anyway, and he felt he’d better make a good showing. “Now you’re here, perhaps I can show you up to the house. I can’t see any luggage…”  
  
“Oh, we sent it along by cart,” explained Abby airily, earning her another pained look from her cousin. “I’m sure it will be along presently.”  
  
“Well, in that case, the house is this way.”  
  
But as they turned towards the house, Miss Maitland stumbled a little, and cursed in a way Tom was sure was unsuitable for young ladies. Once again he reached out a steadying hand, and once again was waved away.  
  
“Oh, these dratted skirts!” exclaimed Miss Maitland. “They plague me day and night! I wish I could wear trousers, like a man. Then I’d be able to ride astride as well, instead of in this silly side-saddle way!”  
  
“Abigail, really!” Mr. Temple sounded scandalised, but also a little resigned, as if he were used to his cousin’s behaviour, and had realised there wasn’t much he could do about it.  
  
But Tom couldn’t help being reminded of Claudia Cutter. He was sure the two women would get on very well, and wondered if they’d have a chance to meet. It seemed likely, if Miss Maitland was indeed going to marry Stephen…  
  
The thought soured his amusement, and suddenly it was more of an effort to keep the welcoming expression on his face as he led the way up to the house.  
  
*    *   *   *   *  
  
A footman appeared as soon as they approached the front door. Tom hadn’t had much occasion to come to this side of the house, but he couldn’t really take Miss Maitland and Mr. Temple to the kitchen entrance. He felt rather out of place walking along the sweeping driveway towards the grand front façade of the mansion.  
  
Ushering the visitors forward, Tom tried to ignore the surprised yet supercilious look on the footman’s face (the house servants always thought they were better than the outdoor staff), and cleared his throat to explain the situation.  
  
Then Lady Hart appeared. “What on earth is going on?” she demanded. “What is _he_ ,” she threw a glance twice as disdainful as the footman’s in Tom’s direction, “doing here?”  
  
Then she spotted Abigail and Connor. A look of almost comical surprise passed across her face. “Why, Miss Maitland, it’s you! And Mr. Temple, I see.” She looked around for a moment in confusion. “But where is the carriage? I ordered it sent to pick you up…”  
  
Tom cleared his throat again, wondering as he did so whether it was actually appropriate to address the lady of the house. But Miss Maitland took pity on him, jumping in with an explanation before he could speak.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Lady Hart,” she said quickly. “It’s all my fault. I haven’t been in this part of the country before, you see, and I was eager to see its beauty. My cousin and I rode here after the London coach dropped us off. I’m afraid we didn’t wait for your carriage. Although it was very kind of you to send it, of course.”  
  
Lady Hart looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to be shocked or mollified. But after several seconds of silence she held out a gracious hand to Miss Maitland, an invitation into the house. “Of course, my dear, I completely understand. But you must be tired after your journey. Perhaps you and your cousin would like to freshen up before dinner?”  
  
“That would be wonderful,” replied Miss Maitland, and Tom wondered if he was the only one who could see the amusement dancing in the young woman’s eyes. By the further change of Lady Hart’s expression as she led her guests into the house, he thought that at least one other person had noticed it, and he felt his own amusement surface again as he considered the type of woman Lady Hart had chosen to ally her family to. Tom suspected Abigail Maitland wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting.  
  
*    *   *   *   *  
  
Putting every last ounce of effort into dragging a bale of straw across the yard, Tom didn’t realise he had a visitor until he nearly dropped the blasted thing on his foot. Someone giggled behind him, and he jumped, the bale slipping from his grip and only missing his toes by an inch.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Abigail Maitland sounded sincerely contrite, and Tom smiled at her as he straightened up and turned around.  
  
“No harm done, miss. I probably should have got one of my lads to help me, but they all seem to have conveniently vanished.”  
  
Miss Maitland laughed again. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she said.  
  
Tom grinned. “They’re good lads, if a little lazy sometimes. Now, miss, what can I do for you? I’m sure you didn’t come all the way down here just to watch me lugging bales of straw about.”  
  
“I’d like a horse, if it’s not too much trouble. I want to go riding.”  
  
“Of course, miss. I’ll saddle one straight away.” Then Tom frowned as something occurred to him. “Are you going out on your own, miss?”  
  
“Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”  
  
Tom looked uncomfortable. “Well, it’s just, maybe you’d be safer with someone to accompany you. What about your cousin?”  
  
“Connor is a scaredy cat, and the worst rider between here and London,” Abby proclaimed. “And besides, he’d much rather be shut up inside with his books, even on a lovely day like this.”  
  
“Well, maybe Master Hart could…” Tom stumbled over the words, but Miss Maitland barely seemed to notice. Her face had fallen.  
  
“Ah. This is a little awkward,” she murmured, almost to herself.  
  
“Miss?”  
  
“I haven’t actually…er… _met_ Lord Hart yet…” she said, a slight flush staining her cheeks.  
  
For a second Tom wondered at her use of the grand title, and then he realised that of course, Stephen would have inherited it now. He was ‘Master Hart’ no longer.  
  
Abigail Maitland was speaking again. “Of course, I completely understand why he does not wish for company,” she said. “His father died so recently. Actually, I wonder at Lady Hart for inviting me so precipitous…”  
  
Abruptly, the young woman clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I am saying the most improper things!” she gasped. “To speak so about my hostess.” Then she looked narrowly at Tom. “It is something about you, Tom. You seem to encourage confidences.”  
  
Tom reflected that perhaps this trait was what had landed him in his current emotional predicament in the first place, but at Miss Maitland he only smiled. “Apologies, miss, I did not mean to influence you so. Now, about your ride…”  
  
Miss Maitland’s lips twitched with mirth, but she nonetheless returned to the topic at hand. “So, as you can see, Thomas. I have no one to ride with me. I shall have to go on my own. Unless of course you would accompany me?”  
  
Tom looked down at himself, very aware that he was dirty and sweaty – hardly a suitable riding companion for a young lady. But when he thought about the wrath he would incur if he let Abigail Maitland ride out alone, he decided he’d better take her up on her offer.  
  
“If you would care to wait for a few moments, miss, I shall be with you directly. I think Persephone would suit you very well as a mount, miss. The riding horses don’t see as much use as they should, and I’m sure she’ll be very glad of the exercise.”  
  
“Thank you, Thomas. Oh, and Thomas?” Her voice followed him into the stable. “Perhaps you’d better call me Abigail.”  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
So where once Tom had been Stephen’s riding companion, it seemed he was now to be now Abigail Maitland’s. In some ways, the young woman reminded him of Stephen. She was intelligent and quick-witted, and with no airs or graces. But where Stephen could be quiet, and sometimes reserved, Abigail was everything lively and eager. Tom found himself unable to help liking her.  
  
And somewhere, deep inside, he couldn’t help thinking that she would be an ideal wife for Stephen.  
  
“Ah, if only my cousin knew what he was missing,” Abigail said smilingly, as she looked about herself at the countryside. “If only he could take his nose out of his books for just a moment and really _look_ at the world around him.”  
  
It was her second day at Hartshorn House. Once again Mr. Temple had declined to ride with his cousin, and it had fallen to Tom to fill the gap.  
  
“Where do your cousin’s interests lie, if you don’t mind me asking?” enquired Tom.  
  
“He’s most interested in natural history,” Abigail replied. “Which is why it is so ridiculous that he refuses to come outside and actually experience the reality of nature, instead of looking a pictures in dusty old books.”  
  
“Natural History? Really? Mas…er, Lord Hart’s friend Professor Cutter is interested in the same sort of thing.”  
  
“Professor Cutter? Professor Nicholas Cutter. Stephen knows him?”  
  
“Yes? Why, do you know him?”  
  
“Not at all. But my cousin worships him. Professor Cutter would appear to be quite well known in his field, and Connor is always rambling on about his theories and ideas. Perhaps they may meet at some point in the future. Perhaps Stephen could introduce them?”  
  
“Perhaps,” Tom allowed. Unwittingly, an image flashed into his head of what a meeting between the eccentric Professor Cutter and the priggish Connor Temple would be like, and he smiled.  
  
“What is it, Thomas?”  
  
“Nothing. I was just thinking that Professor Cutter might not know what to make of your cousin, that’s all.” He thought again. “Or perhaps it’s the other way around.”  
  
Abigail laughed lightly. “I’m sure Connor would be delighted to meet the professor, even if he _didn’t_ know what to make of him,” she said.  
  
They rode on together for a few more moments, Abigail taking in the sights of the Hartshorn estate. Tom couldn’t help but notice how expertly she handled Persephone, pleased at her firm but considerate treatment of the mare.  
  
Then, “Do you know Lord Hart at all, Thomas?” Abigail asked suddenly.  
  
Taken by surprise, Tom quickly reminded himself once more that they were speaking of Stephen, and not his father, even as he wondered how he would answer Abigail’s question.  
  
“I know him somewhat,” he said guardedly. “I was often S…Lord Hart’s riding companion before his father’s death. I would go so far as to say he favoured me with his friendship.”  
  
 _And so much more…for a while._  
  
“What is he like? I finally met him last night, and he seemed rather aloof.” Unspoken was her disappointment at finding him so.  
  
“It is in his nature to be reserved with those he does not know well,” Tom told her, wondering as he did so why he was defending Stephen to a woman who was essentially his rival, even if she didn’t know it. “But once you get to know him, I’m sure you will find him kind, considerate, intelligent…”  
  
 _And capable of breaking your heart without even thinking about it._  
  
“You sound like you know him rather well, actually. Well, I hope what you say is correct, for if I am to marry him…”  
  
A sudden stab of pain lanced through Tom’s heart, and he abruptly reined his horse in. Jessie snorted at the rough treatment, and Tom patted her mechanically while Abigail looked at him in some confusion.  
  
“Thomas, what is the matter?”  
  
“Oh, nothing, miss. I’ve just realised how far we’ve come, that’s all. Perhaps we’d better turn back to the house now.”  
  
“Well, of course, Thomas. If you wish. I’m sure you have much more important things to do than ride with me.” But Abigail still looked puzzled at his change of mood, and Tom knew she was the last person he could explain it to.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
After that he tried to take a leaf out of Stephen’s book and hold himself a little aloof from Miss Maitland. He still provided her with a riding companion, and was still perfectly friendly (he hoped) towards her. But from then on he tried to keep their association at a level more fitting to their relative statuses.  
  
It was hard though. Abigail was so open and engaging, he often found himself becoming too familiar with her without meaning to, and on more that one occasion he was afraid he had had offended her by reining himself back too abruptly.  
  
Ironically, the one thing that aided him in his endeavour was the sharp ache in his heart whenever he looked at Miss Maitland and reminded himself that she was to marry Stephen. He couldn’t hold that against _her_ , but at the same time he couldn’t help but reflect that, if she weren’t here, he might still be happy. It was a fine line between friendliness and correctness, between liking and jealousy.  
  
But, as it turned out, he didn’t have to walk that fine line for too long. After only a few days of him accompanying her, she found herself another riding companion.  
  
That morning, Tom heard her voice before he saw her. She was clearly in conversation with someone else, and Tom wondered if she had finally persuaded her cousin to mount a horse again. Or perhaps Mr. Temple was making a further attempt at persuading Miss Maitland to be more ladylike. Abigail’s stories of the trials she heaped upon her cousin had made Tom laugh more than once, before he had remembered his vow to behave with more decorum.  
  
He stepped out of the stable as the voices drew nearer, smiling in welcome. But the expression froze when he realised that Miss Maitland’s companion was not Connor Temple. It was Stephen.  
  
“Oh, Thomas, there you are!” said Abigail. “You don’t mind, do you? I was telling Stephen all about the lovely rides I’ve been taking around the estate, and he insisted on coming with me today. He tells me riding is one of his favourite activities. But then you know that, of course.”  
  
“Of course I don’t mind, miss,” replied Tom, making an effort to sound cheerful. “If you will wait for a short time, I shall get Robert to saddle the horses for you and Lord Hart.”  
  
“Oh, but you must come too!” protested Abigail. “I didn’t mean that you should stay behind, Thomas. We are all friends, aren’t we? We shall have a lovely time together.”  
  
“No, thank you, miss, but I should only be in the way,” said Tom, a trifle awkwardly. “And I’m sure you’ll be in much better hands with Lord Hart than with me.”  
  
Thus far, Stephen had remained silent, but now he spoke. “I…we should like you to join us, Tom. You wouldn’t be intruding, I assure you.”  
  
“Begging your pardon, your lordship, but I have many things that require my attention this morning. I must ask to be excused.”  
  
Stephen looked like he wanted to say more, but then appeared to realise that Miss Maitland’s presence made that impossible.  
  
“Very well,” he said. “I shall not press you.”  
  
The words seemed loaded with meaning, and Tom had to turn away to hide his confusion. He heard Stephen asking Miss Maitland if she would like to see the new foal in the paddock while they were waiting for their mounts, and listened as Abigail exclaimed in delight at the prospect. Then, his heart aching, he went back into the stable to find Robert.


	13. Chapter 13

  
Abigail Maitland and Connor Temple stayed at Hartshorn House for nearly a month, as wedding plans were made, and the bride and groom became acquainted with each other.  
  
After that first occasion, Abigail and Stephen rode out together more frequently, whenever Stephen’s sudden increase in duties now that he was Lord Hart would allow. It was gradual at first, but Tom could tell that their regard for each other was growing as they spent more time together. It pained him deeply, even as, in some secret and hidden place he could barely acknowledge even to himself, he was glad that they didn’t hate each other.  
  
Abigail tried repeatedly to get Tom to go with them on their rides, but he always declined. He might be reconciling himself to events, but he knew that to have the developments placed before him so prominently would be more than he could stand. And Stephen’s silence when the young woman made her requests was more than enough to indicate how awkward things would be.  
  
Although of course, there was no avoiding Miss Maitland’s company on those days when Stephen wasn’t able to go out riding. Then he had to listen to the young woman’s thoughts on her betrothed, and occasionally answer questions about him, albeit as non-committally as he could. It was hard, but he managed to protect himself and his heart. Just.  
  
But eventually it was time for Abigail and Connor to leave. They had preparations of their own to be made before the wedding, and they needed to return home to make them. In some still mostly detached part of his mind, Tom wondered at the brief nature of Stephen and Abigail’s courtship. Surely a month was not enough time for two people to get to know each other before they were married? Surely longer was needed? It all seemed so fast. Tom resolutely ignored the little voice in his head that suggested the reason he wanted them to spend more time in courtship was because that meant more time for something to go wrong, and for the wedding to be called off.  
  
But there was no changing it. Stephen and Abigail would be married before Christmas, and that was an end to it. Tom suspected Lady Hart’s hand in the swiftness with which things were being arranged.  
  
It was nearing the end of September by the time they left, and autumn had well and truly arrived. Miss Maitland had succumbed to the chill in the air, and the entreaties of Lady Hart, and consented to take the Hart carriage back to town. Thus it was that Tom was not privy to her departure as he had been to her arrival, and he did not know in what manner Stephen and his bride had parted.  
  
“She is a remarkable woman.”  
  
The words were soft, almost apologetic, and seemed to come out of nowhere. But Tom didn’t startle – he had been expecting this, and was therefore not surprised to see Stephen when he turned from his contemplation of a tangle of bridles.  
  
“She is that,” he said placidly.  
  
Stephen looked surprised by the agreement, but appeared to take encouragement from Tom’s manner. “Can we talk?” he asked hesitantly. “We have…things to say to each other. Perhaps we could go for a ride?”  
  
“No,” Tom replied.  
  
“But, we…”  
  
“We do need to talk,” Tom continued. “But I haven’t the time today. I have a lot of work to do.”  
  
“Tom, you’ve been using that excuse to keep away from me for the last month,” Stephen protested.  
  
“Yes, but the difference is that today it is true,” said Tom.  
  
That surprised a laugh out of Stephen, and Tom half-smiled in response.  
  
“Well, tomorrow, then?” Stephen asked.  
  
“Tomorrow,” promised Tom. “Tomorrow we’ll talk.”  
  
*   *    *   *   *  
  
Tom hadn’t lied. He did have a great deal of work to do. But that was only part of it. He’d delayed Stephen for another reason. He needed to time to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling any more, and while a day wouldn’t allow him to sort that out, he could at least think about what he was going to say to the other man, and putting him off for twenty-four hours would allow him to approach the meeting with a certain amount of composure.  
  
But when Stephen finally arrived the next day, all his equanimity seemed to fly straight out of the window, and suddenly Tom had no idea what to do or say. The only thing that made him feel better was the fact that Stephen seemed to be just as nervous, making their ride a silent one.  
  
The chill in the air that had forced Abigail Maitland to accept the carriage the previous day was still present, despite the bright sunshine and cloudless sky, so Tom directed Jessie towards the hay barn, Stephen following without a murmur of protest.  
  
The silence lasted as long as it took them to dismount and tether the horses, and then Tom broke it in the only way he could think of.  
  
“I wanted to tell you how…sorry I am about your father,” he said awkwardly.  
  
A painful shadow passed across Stephen’s face, and he nodded his thanks. “I’d almost forgotten,” he confessed. “How awful is that? But there hasn’t been much time to think of it these past few weeks. My mother seemed to think it best not to dwell on it.” He smiled bitterly. “But I miss him, Tom. I miss him so much.”  
  
Tom didn’t know what to do. Previously he would have closed the space between them and hugged Stephen close, giving the other man what strength he could. But now, stuck as they were in this seeming limbo of a situation, he held himself back, unable to offer even that small comfort.  
  
“Miss Maitland was very understanding,” Stephen added suddenly. “She was very kind, and didn’t push or prod me. She is a good person.”  
  
And just like that, the subject was out in the open, hanging in the air between them like something tangible and solid.  
  
Tom took a deep breath. “She _is_ a good person,” he said. “She will make you a good wife.”  
  
“She will,” replied Stephen, almost reluctantly, as if he were afraid to break the fragile truce that was between them. Then he smiled a little. “Although I think my mother wishes she hadn’t been so hasty in her choice. She has discovered that money and good connections don’t necessary add up to the sort of person she would wish me to marry.”  
  
“But you’ve always known that the sort of person your mother would wish you to marry, and the sort of person _you_ would wish to marry are two completely different things,” Tom said. He took another deep breath. “And Abigail Maitland is the right person for you.”  
  
In the short silence that followed, Tom could see that Stephen wanted to say something. Tom knew what it would be, and almost wished he wouldn’t. Saying the words would only make everything more painful, more difficult.  
  
“Tom, you’re the right person for me.”  
  
And now the words were out, and Tom had been correct. The pain in his heart, which had subsided to a dull ache, flared to life again, sharp and brittle and pointed.  
  
“Stephen, you can’t say things like that,” Tom said in a low voice. “Not any more.”  
  
“Why not?” Stephen demanded. “Why shouldn’t I?”  
  
“Because you have a fiancée!” Tom retorted. “You are going to marry Abigail Maitland, and…and…things can’t be like _that_ between us any more.”  
  
“But I don’t love Abigail Maitland!” Stephen exclaimed. “She may be pleasant, and kind, and understanding, and good company. But I don’t love her! I love…”  
  
“Stephen, stop!” cried Tom. He put out his hands as if he could physically prevent the other man from completing his declaration. “Please. Please don’t say it,” he finished quietly.  
  
But Stephen caught at Tom’s outstretched hands, pulling Tom towards him until they were only inches apart. “Tom, I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “If I could make this right, you know I would. But so many people want so many things of me, and I don’t know what to do. My mother wants me to be an heir, Miss Maitland wants me to be a husband, and you…”  
  
“I want you to be you, nothing more,” interrupted Tom.  
  
“But the heir and the husband is part of me,” Stephen said. “You don’t want or need those parts, but they are just as much who I am as the young man who spends time with you in the fields. I don’t want to lose you Tom, but I don’t want to lose my home, or my family either. I don’t know what to do,” he said again.  
  
“Then I’ll tell you,” replied Tom quietly. “You must marry Miss Maitland, and build a life with her. She will make you happy, and I _know_ you will make her happy. That is what you must do.”  
  
“But what about you? I can’t just…”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” said Tom firmly. “ _We’ll_ be fine.” Resolutely, he ignored the roaring pain consuming his heart, and tried to look like he truly believed what he was saying, instead of wishing he could take Stephen and run away with him somewhere where no one would ever find them.  
  
“Oh, Tom,” Stephen sighed. He cupped Tom’s cheek with his hand, fingertips gliding over skin and stubble. They were so close now that Tom couldn’t tell whose breath was whose. “I’m so sorry,” Stephen whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
And then they were kissing. Tom didn’t know who finally closed the gap, but it didn’t matter. He clung Stephen (or perhaps it was Stephen clinging to him?), and devoured him with deep, needy kisses, as if he could crawl inside Stephen’s skin and stay there.  
  
Stephen seemed unwilling to let him go, so their attempt to sink into the hay ended in a rather ungainly sprawl, Tom on top and Stephen below as they kissed again, trying to block everything out – knowledge, thought, responsibility.  
  
Tom felt Stephen’s hands tug at his shirt, pulling it from his trousers and then sliding underneath to stroke the smooth skin of his back. He sighed against Stephen’s lips at the contact, his own hands immediately trying to find a way to mirror Stephen’s actions.  
  
But they were too close, there was no room. And eventually, with a grumble of frustration, Tom had to sit back, struggling into a kneeling position so he could pull off and fling away his own shirt, before going to work on Stephen’s lacings with a look of single-minded concentration on his face.  
  
Stephen was suddenly passive under his touch, allowing Tom to strip away the shirt, and then his trousers, watching with hooded eyes as Tom discarded the last of his own garments, and then returned to lay himself over Stephen again, blanketing the other man with his body.  
  
The kisses were slower now, more languorous, but no less needy for that. Long moments passed as lips moved against each other, tongues danced, and hands roamed over warm skin.  
  
But Tom could feel another need building, and he tried to roll away, desperate to feel Stephen’s hands touching him even more intimately. But Stephen caught at his arms, keeping him from moving as he stared up at him.  
  
There was a question there, deep in Stephen’s eyes. A pleading, almost. But Tom couldn’t understand what he was being asked, and he kissed Stephen again, softly, before he spoke.  
  
“What? What’s the matter? Don’t you want to?” He held his breath, waiting for the answer.  
  
“I want…” Stephen faltered, as if unsure how to express himself.  
  
“Just ask,” Tom said gently.  
  
“I want…I want you to take me,” Stephen said softly.  
  
Tom froze. Stephen couldn’t be asking what he thought he was. Could he?  
  
“I…are you sure? We’ve never… _I’ve_ never…”  
  
“Tom.” Stephen placed a finger over Tom’s stuttering lips, seemingly more sure of himself now he’d made his request. “ _Please_.”  
  
And Tom felt himself stir at Stephen’s needy, desperate tone, and suddenly knew that he wanted this almost more than he’d ever wanted anything. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.  
  
But, god, he was terrified.  
  
Stephen had turned so he was lying on his stomach, and Tom reached out a shaking hand to stroke along the pale skin of his back, his fingertips coming to rest just short of the swell of Stephen’s buttocks as he hesitated, unsure, frightened, but above all, _aroused_.  
  
“Tom?”  
  
He shifted his gaze to see Stephen looking at him over his shoulder, his head pillowed on his arms as he nodded reassuringly.  
  
“I trust you,” Stephen said simply. “I _want_ you.”  
  
Heat flared low in Tom’s abdomen, and his fingers continued their southward journey, tracing the shadowed cleft between Stephen’s buttocks as Stephen spread his legs slightly, allowing Tom to kneel between them.  
  
But Tom stopped again when he suddenly realised something. “Oh. We don’t have any…”  
  
“In my jacket,” Stephen interrupted him quietly. He looked back at Tom again. “I promise I didn’t plan this,” he added. He smiled sheepishly. “I just never took the bottle out of my pocket, that’s all.”  
  
Tom raised an eyebrow, but his quick smile softened the disbelief, and he quickly rummaged in Stephen’s jacket until he found the bottle in question, unstoppering it and liberally coating his fingers in oil.  
  
Stephen had rested his head on his arms again. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t look tense. If anything, he looked as if he was savouring the anticipation.  
  
Tom just hoped he was up to the job.


	14. Chapter 14

Tom’s hands were still shaking. Sternly, he told himself not to be so silly. This was Stephen. They both wanted this, and there was no reason to be scared.  
  
Still, he was determined to take things slowly, both because of his own inexperience, and because he wanted to make this last. He wanted to remember every single second.  
  
Slowly, he leaned forward and placed a kiss at the nape of Stephen’s neck, licking and nuzzling at the skin there before moving downwards, his lips marking their way down Stephen’s spine in a series of butterfly kisses. Tom’s own back protested at the position it was being forced to contort into, but he ignored it in favour of his worship of Stephen’s body.  
  
Stephen was sighing in pleasure at Toms’ ministrations, and Tom took him time, memorising once more the taste of Stephen’s skin, and the places that made him squirm and gasp.  
  
But as he reached the swell of Stephen’s buttocks, he sat back again, continuing with his fingers what his lips had started. Smears of oil marked where his hand had rested, and Tom paused a moment to dribble some more on to his fingers before stroking them once more between Stephen’s cheeks, pushing lightly at his entrance and making Stephen wriggle.  
  
“Tom, please, I won’t break…”  
  
“We’re doing this my way or not at all. You took care of me once, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. I couldn’t bear to hurt you.” The finality in Tom’s voice effectively ended any argument, and Stephen fell quiet, the only sound issuing from his lips his harsh breaths as Tom pushed again, rubbing gently at the tight ring of muscle, teasing a little, before sliding his finger inside.  
  
Stephen whined at the sensation, and Tom could feel his finger being gripped tightly. He belatedly thought to wonder how long it had been since Stephen had done this, done it _this_ way round. He was sure Stephen had, but the other man felt so tight that he could almost have been a novice. Tom’s determination not to hurt Stephen increased.  
  
Pushing deeper, Tom crooked his finger, searching for that small spot that had always given _him_ so much pleasure. He knew instantly when he’d found it, as Stephen’s whole body shivered, and his breath caught in his throat. Tom remembered their very first time together, when Stephen had reduced him to utter incoherency simply with his fingers inside him. Suddenly he was taken by the desire to do exactly the same thing to Stephen, and he stroked his finger across the same spot again, harder this time, gratified to see Stephen’s body shudder again, and hear a whimper drop from the other man’s lips.  
  
He could tell Stephen was trying, and failing, to say something, and silenced the obvious attempt to hurry him up with a third thrust of his fingers, before he withdrew them and coated them anew with oil.  
  
“Two?” he said, half question, half warning.  
  
Stephen seemed to have learned his lesson, because he nodded emphatically, but didn’t say a word.  
  
Two fingers were more awkward than one, and Tom had to twist to get them into Stephen’s body, freezing instantly when he heard a gasp that sounded more like one of pain than pleasure.  
  
But then he felt Stephen relax around the digits, and gathered his confidence again, thrusting deeper and finding the sensitive nub inside. He stroked it firmly, making Stephen squirm and whine, and then repeated the motion until the other man was writhing uncontrollably, the sight only heightening his own arousal until he could feel his whole body tingling with it.  
  
Stephen was helpless beneath him by the time Tom inserted a third finger, and Tom revelled in the feeling that _he_ had done that. He had reduced Stephen to this quivering shell of need. This time he didn’t pull all the way out, but insinuated the oil-slick digit beside the other two, focusing more now on stretching Stephen, flexing and scissoring his fingers until Stephen felt considerably less tight, and the other man was mewling desperately.  
  
Finally drawing his hand away, Tom took a moment to compose himself. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life, and he knew if he let his lust and arousal take over he could quite easily lose his grip on this situation.  
  
So he took a couple of deep breaths, and looked down at Stephen’s still trembling body. “Are you ready?” he asked, a trifle nervously.  
  
Stephen nodded, but then almost instantly shook his head in contradiction. Tom felt a stab of worry lance through him.  
  
“What? What is it?”  
  
Stephen looked back at him. “Not like this,” he said. “I want…I want to see you. I want you to see _me_.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“It’s not the easiest position for your first time like this,” Stephen added hurriedly. “But I want to look into your eyes. Can you understand that?”  
  
Tom smiled gently. “Of course I can,” he replied.  
  
Turning himself over, Stephen shuffled back a little until he was reclining in the hay rather than lying in it. Tom followed, drawing Stephen’s legs around and over his hips until his buttocks were resting on Tom’s thighs and Tom’s length was nestled against the cleft between his cheeks.  
  
The other man was right – it _wasn’t_ the easiest position. But nothing about their relationship had ever been easy, and Tom wanted to look into Stephen’s eyes as much as Stephen wanted to look into his. This felt right.  
  
Reaching out, he caressed Stephen’s face softly, letting his hand trail along the line of a slender throat, and then on down a smooth, taut body, until it was resting on Stephen’s hips. There was a beat of hesitation, a glance exchange full of meaning, and then Tom shifted slightly, guiding himself to Stephen’s entrance, nudging against the tight pucker before pushing gently.  
  
“Harder,” said Stephen breathlessly. “You have to push harder, Tom.”  
  
Obediently, Tom increased the pressure, shoving aside any thoughts that he might be hurting Stephen. And then there was an abrupt release, and Tom felt himself suddenly inside Stephen’s body.  
  
And it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He was being gripped – squeezed, almost – in an oh-so tight heat, the sensation almost overwhelming. Closing his eyes, he tried to centre himself – he knew it was entirely possible that this could take him over if he let it. And he didn’t want that. He wanted – he _had_ – to remember this.  
  
“Tom?” Stephen voice was hoarse, pleading. “Tom, please…don’t stop…”  
  
Breathing shakily, Tom pushed himself deeper, sheathing himself fully inside Stephen, and then pausing again to adjust. He felt Stephen’s hand covering his own where it gripped Stephen’s hip, slim fingers tangling with Tom’s, grasping and pulling him forward.  
  
His eyelids fluttered open again when he felt Stephen’s breath on his face, and looked into Stephen’s blue, blue eyes for an eternal second before Stephen tugged again, bringing him close enough to kiss.  
  
“Tom…” Stephen whispered. “Oh, Tom…”  
  
“I love you, Stephen.”  
  
He hadn’t meant to say the words, hadn’t meant to acknowledge the feelings that were between them. He’d thought that only pain and regret would accompany them. But once they were said, Tom knew that he would never have been able to keep them inside. He needed Stephen to know.  
  
Stephen looked at him for a long moment, joy and sadness warring in his eyes. Then, “I love you too, Tom,” he said softly. They kissed again, and Tom felt his heart ache at the sweetness of it.  
  
“Make love to me, Tom.”  
  
Slowly, Tom started to move. It was clumsy, and his thrusts were shallow, but it felt good – more than good – and he couldn’t bear to draw away from Stephen. And the hands clutching at his arms, sliding along his back, pulling him down, told him Stephen felt the same.  
  
They rocked together slowly, the only sounds fast breathing and soft moans. Tom found something of a rhythm, managing to angle himself to make Stephen gasp and tremble with every thrust, even as he sought to prevent himself from being overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him. His lips blindly sought out Stephen’s again – he wanted to wrap himself around Stephen, to cling to him and never let go.  
  
“Tom…Tom…”  
  
The gasped words were a warning, and suddenly Tom could feel how much effort Stephen was putting into holding himself back, trying to keep them in this moment.  
  
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t fight it. Just let go. Come for me, Stephen.”  
  
With a soft cry Stephen climaxed, spending himself between their bodies with a shudder, tightening around Tom and drawing him over the precipice and down into a place where nothing else mattered.  
  
*   *   *   *   *  
  
“You were right, Tom.”  
  
“Right about what?”  
  
“About Miss Maitland and I. She is to be my wife, and she deserves me to be her husband. She deserves not to be second best.”  
  
Tom could feel Stephen’s arm tightening around his shoulder as he spoke, fingers sliding along slick, heated skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He shivered, and pressed himself a little closer to Stephen. Distantly, he knew he would soon be cold, and that it would be sensible to re-clothe themselves. But right now he didn’t want to burst this little bubble. He wanted it to last just a little longer…  
  
“This must be the last time, you know.”  
  
There was the slightest of hesitations before Tom replied. “I know.”  
  
“I couldn’t do that to her.”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
Stephen sighed, and Tom could hear his own heartache echoed in the sound. “I’m sorry, Tom. I wish things could be different. If I were free, if I wasn’t in this situation, if we were anywhere but here…”  
  
“If wishes were horses…” Tom said wryly.  
  
“How did we get here, Tom?” said Stephen. “How did this happen? When I came back from London in the Spring I was just so happy to be home, away from the ‘society’ that my mother deemed so suitable, and the young ladies she was always trying to throw into my path. I was looking forward to a nice, quiet summer.”  
  
“But then you were there. And you weren’t just the stable master, you were _Tom_. And I couldn’t…I couldn’t help myself.”  
  
Tom smiled. “I don’t think you can take all the blame on to yourself,” he said. “Although I still have no idea how I found myself in this situation either. I would never even have contemplated it previously, and then you came into my life, and suddenly I wanted things that I never wanted before.”  
  
“Could we have stopped ourselves, Tom?” Stephen’s voice was almost pleading for an answer, and Tom curled himself even closer around the other man before he replied.  
  
“No,” he said simply. “I don’t think we could.”  
  
“Do you regret it?”  
  
Tom lifted his head from Stephen’s shoulder, and he looked directly into the other man’s eyes. “Never,” he said firmly. “I will never regret it.”  
  
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against Stephen’s softly, almost chastely. “I will never regret it,” he repeated quietly.  
  
Stephen smiled sadly. “Me, either,” he said. His voice dropped to a whisper. “And I’ll never stop loving you, Tom. Even though I won’t be able to tell you, never forget that.”  
  
Tom smiled back. “I won’t,” he promised.  
  
A quiet fell as he settled his head back on Stephen’s shoulder. Soon they would have to part, go back to the house, and start along new paths. But for now it was just the two of them. The bubble could remain intact for just a few minutes more.


	15. Chapter 15

It was a winter wedding, and the air was sharp and chill as Tom waited with Plato and Persephone outside the church. The horses were restless after having been made to stand still so long, and Tom muttered soothing nonsense to them as they shifted and twitched, their hooves occasionally pawing at the ground. Tom wiggled his own toes in sympathy – his boots weren’t quite thick enough to keep the cold from his feet.  
  
Much to Lady Hart’s – now the Dowager Lady Hart, of course – chagrin, Stephen and Abigail had insisted on leaving the church on horseback, rather than in a carriage. In fact, they had been rather firm on the point, and since it was now far too late for the Dowager to put a stop to the marriage, she had been obliged to give way, surprisingly with rather more grace than usual.  
  
Hence the need for Tom to be standing outside on this late November day, taking care of the horses, and waiting for the happy couple to emerge.  
  
The strange thing was, he didn’t mind. ‘Reconciled’ was too strong a word for what he felt – every time his thoughts strayed to the ceremony taking place inside the church, he still felt that deep ache of loss – but he could acknowledge that this was the way things had to be, and somewhere, perhaps, even find a sliver of happiness for Stephen and his bride.  
  
The church doors were suddenly flung wide as the bells started their peal. Plato pranced nervously again, and Tom calmed him with a treat as his eyes strayed to the people issuing from the church.  
  
There weren’t many of them – the congregation was mostly made up of old friends of Stephen’s mother and father. Only a few faces were familiar to Tom. He saw Professor Cutter and Connor Temple first. Connor had given his cousin away in his capacity as her guardian, but had now appeared to forget his familial duties in the distraction of his conversation with the professor. And Cutter was hardly less engrossed. Tom smiled as he watched them talking animatedly. Clearly their differences in character were irrelevant when it came to the excitement and interest generated by the natural world.  
  
Behind them came Claudia Cutter, looking resigned but amused by her husband’s neglect. She smiled and raised a hand when she saw Tom, and Tom nodded back to her, remembering her kindness during Stephen’s convalescence.  
  
A gaggle of people obscured the church entrance for a few moments, and then drifted aside to reveal the Dowager, leaning on the arm of a relative, and looking as if she was trying to be happy, but not quite managing it.  
  
And then came Stephen and Abigail. The bride had succumbed to tradition, and Tom thought she looked beautiful in her dress, simple and elegant as it was. Stephen was looking down at her, and smiled as she said something to him. Then they both ducked a little as some of the guests threw rice over them, laughing as they did so. They looked happy.  
  
Tom’s heart twisted a little.  
  
He held himself still as the couple came towards him down the path, wondering if being unobtrusive would be enough to be unseen. He kept the horses steady as Stephen helped Miss Maitland – no, she was Lady Hart now, Tom reminded himself – on to her horse, settling her daintily on Persephone’s back. Tom stepped forward to adjust her stirrups slightly, and was rewarded with a bright smile.  
  
“Thank you, Tom.”  
  
“You’re welcome, my lady.”  
  
A hand on his shoulder stopped him turning away, and he looked up as Abigail leaned down towards him slightly. “I mean it,” she said quietly. “Thank you. Thank you for being there for me.”  
  
Tom didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded instead. Abigail smiled again.  
  
“Tom.”  
  
He felt something inside himself go very still at the sound of Stephen’s voice. There were too many people around, and Abigail was too close, for any more words, but as Tom raised his gaze to Stephen’s face, he could see everything that was unsaid reflected in Stephen’s blue eyes.  
  
But there was nothing to be done, nothing more either of them _could_ say. Nothing except…  
  
“Yes, sir?”  
  
“I would say thank you as well, Tom.”  
  
“It is my pleasure, sir.”  
  
“Thank you, Tom,” said Stephen quietly.  
  
Then he was mounting his horse, and the crowd was stepping back as the bride and groom turned their mounts. Tom heard Claudia call farewell, and heard the Dowager’s last admonishment to be careful. But he himself was silent. He did not call, and he did not wave. He just watched as the horses cantered into the distance, his eyes fixed on Stephen as the other man rode away from him, and into his new life.  
  
It was some time later – he wasn’t sure how long – before a soft touch on his arm roused him, and he suddenly realised that everyone was gone. The happy couple had long since departed, and the wedding guests had gone back to the house for refreshments.  
  
Turning, he saw it was Hettie, come to find him.  
  
“Tom?” she asked. “Tom, are you well?”  
  
Tom sighed. “I’m fine, Hettie,” he replied. “Just pondering on how different things are going to be around here now, that’s all.”  
  
“I’ll say!” Hettie said. “The new mistress will bring a breath of fresh air to this place, and that’s a fact.” She leaned closer to Tom, and spoke almost conspiratorially. “You know, I didn’t think the young master would ever get married. His mother may have wanted it, but he never struck me as the marrying kind.”  
  
“Me either, Hettie, me either,” Tom heard himself saying. “It’s funny how people can surprise you, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, it is,” she said. Then she tugged on his arm. “Come on. Goodness knows we’re run off our feet in the kitchen, what with all these guests around, but I think we can find a small space for you. You look like you could do with a nice cup of tea.  
  
Tea. Hettie’s answer for everything. Tom smiled. “Thank you, Hettie. That would be lovely.”


End file.
